70s Wasteland
by xxWonderFablexx
Summary: Meet Brie - a natural born rebel plucked from the richly cultured wild life of 1970s NYC to the dinky town of mediocre Point Place, her Father's hometown. Rekindling friends old & making new with enemies closer to home, Brie not only unearths the unspoken history between her parents & the Foremans, but questions her place in the chaos of life's oyster alongside Steven Hyde.
1. Eric Foreman's Basement

1 

~ Eric Forman's Basement ~

I can't believe they only have two thousand kids going to their high school. Two thousand. That's it! What kind of small town suburbia hell did Dad drag me into? They're totally backwoods and I doubt incest has a geographical preference. Back home, the city had over ten thousand in a single school. This is underwhelming in such a way that my exceptions have been lowered and it's freaking me out. Damnit. I knew I should've completely ignored Dad's longing for small town feels and moved in with Nicky and his grandma. Well, Dad, you can have it. Then again, I didn't have the heart to tell Dad I didn't want to move. He looked so happy to come back to his hometown and who the hell am I to piss on his parade? Yeah he's overbearing and too much into my business but I guess that comes natural due to his profession. Dad has a natural initiative built into his makeup and it's probably why he and Red were best friends growing –

"Brie?"

Flinching on the Mustang's hood, I flatten my spine against the windshield and settle a hand over my heart. Instead of screaming – which I rarely do – I murmur a slew of curses and slide off the beauty until I'm leaning against the grill.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." Though Eric's words are regretful, that damn porky grin defies it.

"Whatever. What's so important you had to break my meditation?"

Cocky eyes trail my colorful _Kiss_ tee and floral embellished bellbottoms. "Meditation? Wait, is this a flower child thing?" Theatrically, his fingers flare at me.

"It's a _thinking_ thing. C'mon, man." I rotate my hand, beckoning him to spit it out. "What?"

He mutters, "_you're definitely not Donna_", thinking I didn't hear that and fits his hands into the pockets of flared jeans. "I'm inviting you to this party we're having. Kitty has this thing for feeding everyone she comes into contact with so just wander on over of you need a bite."

I thought I smelled barbecue.

Using my hands to prop myself while leaning back, I chew the inside of my lip – a horrible habit I really need to stop but somehow can't no matter how much strawberry balm and willpower I apply. "When?"

"Uh, right now. So if you want to stop by, you can. Use the kitchen entrance, we only use the front door for y'know, 'front door things'."

Eric, you don't have to always try to be sarcastic or put an emphasis on something to make it sound important. I hear you, dork.

"…right. I'll run it past RP. My bet's 'yeah' because its home cooking."

"...right." The lanky brunet looks beyond my garage, into the Pinciotti's backyard.

He's always had a thing for her, even when we're little and her folks moved into town. Man, it's so weird to think that my Dad sold his childhood home to Uncle Bob when he decided to move to New York. It's even weirder that he's back, with me, and we live in the house right behind that very home, the same house Donna grew up. Even more, it's kinda crazy since my Dad and Donna's dad are related, making the tall redhead my cousin. Fuck, man. Ugh now my brain hurts. Life's bizarre. You know, I'm actually a bit surprised he isn't going out with Donna, or at least haven't fucked, but then again, I haven't been in Wisconsin since I was six when naptime in school was acceptable. I don't know why the hell they stopped naptime in the curricular, which is stupid. I just might propose bringing it back at the next parent-teacher conference thing or a school district hearing. Back to Eric, it's not a fair assumption since I give others the benefit of the doubt but geez, he's a horny and scrawny little guy. Maybe she's afraid she'd break off his dick with the first hand-job and doesn't want to chance finding out she has an iron-jawed pussy, even though we both know she does.

In the few seconds I've been silent, Eric's made himself comfortable against the hood. "You ever drive the 'Stang?"

"RP's protective of her."

"So, no."

I skim buffed nails over gleaming opal paint, satisfied with the wax job I did hours ago. "Not yet. He said I could have her when I graduate but four years isn't that long. Man, I can't get over how small the school is. You have like two parking lots. That's it. Where do you have room to do anything?"

"Oh, there's plenty of room to do stuff. I'm sure if you catch Hyde on a good day, he'll show you some spots. And the parking lots _are big_, thank you."

He's defending school? Yeah, Eric's got a solid head on his shoulders but he's so..._preppy_ and a total square. I'm not a complete burn out or rolling stone but next to him and his not girlfriend-girlfriend, I look like the Woodstock Queen. Well, the feather in my hair and chill-bohemian wardrobe doesn't help my argument much, but it's what I like and I don't care if anyone else does. Living in New York let me meet a lot of cool people and experience plenty of individualism and creativity; I'm cultured. I like what I like. The world would be oppressed, more than it is, if we all liked the same things. Screw you cooperate America and screw your socialism.

"Hyde?"

"Seriously? You sat across him at lunch." I must give him a dumbfound look because he gestures his tiny hands around his head. "Curly hair, aviators, _Zeppelin_ shirt... Man, you must've been really out of it today, Brie."

"Ok. Imagine it's your first day in a new town, a new school around new people, around semi-familiar people that have all these stories of you that you can't remember while you're missing everyone you grew up with back home. Hearing memories you can't remember but everyone else does is like being blackout drunk and hearing secondhand how you buzzed off the hair of the cat." I grin jovially, "Man, I hated that furry bastard."

He chuckles at my description before realization hits him. Sorrow touches the pubescent lines of his face and unknown to himself, Eric awkwardly shifts around in place when he's upset. Like a pigeon. "I didn't think of it like that. You ok?"

Blinking wryly to the boy flanking my right, I shrug halfheartedly. "Homesick, but I'll be fine." Standing, I slowly pace the length of the garage and stare downward at red converse. "It's not like I can pack a suitcase, snag a bus and runaway. I have to protect RP, make sure Chelsea doesn't sink her hooks in him more than she has."

"She can't be that bad, Brie. Why don't you like her?" Eric's curiosity aligns my brown eyes with his blue.

Because I caught her nailing some asshole in my living room. That's why.

"She's a skankasourass." Matter-a-factly, my thumbs rest on lacy pockets.

He flinches at the brashness of my cool tone, staring sympathetically at his sneakers. "Geez. Tell me how you really feel."

Anger flowing like fire in my veins, I clench jeweled fingers hard enough for the bands to leave an impression on the neighboring digit, pinching the skin repeatedly. "I hate that broad! Her birth certificate is an apology note from the freaking condom factory!"

Confusion wriggles his brows. "Whoa. Did you just –"

"YEAH. I did!"

"Whoa. Ok," Gangly arms in a striped shirt raise a surrender. "All I did was do what my mom told me to. Note to self: Chelsea talk equals angry Brie. Got it."

Before I can snap back or apologize, Eric disperses through my backyard and impresses me with his strength by hopping the chain link fence separating me from the second half of the Pinciotti clan.

Time to ruse the adults and get them out of my hair. Especially Chelsea.

Slinking to an orange back door with a window doused in paisley linen for privacy, I enter the kitchen and smirk at the sight of Richard Pinciotti hunting for something to eat in the fridge. "Hey, Dad. Chelsea not up to cooking?"

Of course she's not. The bitch can boil water to save her life. Oh no, but she can cheat on "her man" and ride someone else's like a fuckin' jockey. Pathetic.

"Nah. She went to the salon, something about getting her nails done." He shuts the door flippantly and proceeds to load a glass with water from the tap.

Not for the first time, I sullenly pat myself on the back for finishing mine and Her chores after school before Dad finished his shift.

"What's up, Brie?"

Awesome. So that's more of our money this bitch is flushing down the toilet. She can do her own, it's not like she doesn't have time to whatever the hell she wants. Clearly. I do mine and I think they look pretty good, if I do say so myself.

"Eric stopped by. Said Red and Kitty were having a barbecue and invited us."

"And by 'Red and Kitty', we mean Kitty." Still armed in his navy blues, he combs a hand through trimmed but unruly dark strands before habitually rubs thick sideburns, one of his classic stress signs.

I nod positively and jut my thumb toward the back door. "Yeah, right now."

The polka dot glass is set down on a counter top; he bares forward on the counter top for a moment, relief and excitement blossoming his squared features. "Now?"

"That's what I said, man."

"Thank god. Real food. Give me a minute to change and we'll head over. Nothing kills a party like a cop."

Yeah, don't I know it. Dad's caught me a couple times back in New York doing things I should never have been doing with people I should've never been doing them with. Sure they were wrong and unethical for a cop's daughter, but I'm not just labeled as a "cop's kid". Nicky called me a free spirit. Dad's put so many limitations, curfews, and boundaries on me when I first got busted and it only made me want to break out of the cage faster at any cost. I don't know why I get like that, why I make circumstances worse when I'm facing the danger of life, but I do. Maybe it's the panic attacks. I don't know. Either way, we have a system now and somehow in one of my drunken episodes, I've convinced him to no longer confine me. I honestly have no memory of that conversation but he took my emotional, slurred ass seriously. I like to think that it pained him to see me a mess and being his only child, his little girl, he just let me have my way hoping I'd be happier. So far, I've mellowed out. He says it's a "trust" thing. Whatever, man. As far as I'm concerned, I'm free as a bird.

**_Tap, tap. Tap, tap_**.

Who the hell is that and what do they waaant? Sometimes I wish I had a button to just poof people away from me, especially the stupid ones.

Peeling the back the door, I step aside so Donna can slip in the foyer leading to the unused basement adjacent to the checker-floored kitchen. "We're coming. He's changing out of uniform, into his 'civvies'."

Civilian clothes. Man, it's ridiculous how much cop talk I know. Having Red and Uncle Bob around RP will definitely give me some breathing room from hearing day in and day out anything and everything about what did happen or what didn't happen at the station. For sure.

"Good," She leans toward me, whispering, "Ok, so I know he's a cop and all but um, does RP by chance have any beer?"

"He doesn't drink."

Her face falls a bit.

"But I do." On our way to the basement freezer tucked below the stairwell I tell her, "You say a word to anyone about my stash and I'll stick you in the freezer, and don't think I won't because we share DNA. Cool?"

She laughs for a solid moment in disbelief but stops abruptly as I remain stoic. "Y-yeah. Crystal." She clears her throat, nodding apprehensively. As I dig through crushed ice and fish a handful of cans out one by one before piling them in a fleece blanket and into a tote bag to keep them cold and hidden, the redhead breaks the silence after I pause my task to listen for RP walking above us until silence encompasses us. "You're not good with people, are you?"

I relieve a numb hand by shaking free any ice clinging to dry, freezing skin, then trying to warm up by nuzzling both hands together; I'm quick to reply, "It's not that I don't like them. Trusting people isn't my strong suit. It's nothing personal, Donna, so don't turn blue if I seem distant or disinterested. Few things get me hot and bothered."

"Duly noted."

Shit. She and Eric even talk the same. How are they not together by now?

Handing her the fifth one – that being all I'll willing give her – I inform her that she owes me.

"So, how was your first day of high school?"

I form a look equal parts overwhelmed and annoyed.

"Figures. You know, Brie," Donna's sentimental tone gathers my line of sight, "If you need someone to talk too, I'm right next door. Don't worry, you'll fit in." Following her outside to the mouth of the garage, she slings the tote over a shoulder.

"Why would I want to fit in?"

Especially here in this dinky little town?

"Well, you want to be liked, don't you? Everyone wants to be liked by someone."

Interesting theory, Donna. Points for effort.

"Nah. I don't need anyone to like me because I like me, man. If you don't then buzz off or I'll buzz my foot up your ass."

Strangely, a smile pinches the corners of her mouth, adding an extra shot of kindness to splash within her pale marbles.

I square a skeptical brow and tuck my palms in the pockets of my bell bottoms. "What?"

"Nothing." She titters a laugh, waving me off and giggles to herself as the distance spreads between she and I. "I'll see you in a few."

Just as she vanishes from view, the backdoor shuts, exposing Dad heading my way as I spin around to face his burly silhouette. "_Finally_. You ready to go or what?" His thick arm nudges into me, jostling me enough to sharpen my reflexes. He barks a laughter somewhere behind me, his heavy steps on the pavement slapping farther and farther away.

Excuse me?

"Hey, I was waiting on _you_!" Once I jog up to meet the my ogre of a parent, I allow his heavy arm flannelled in plaid to grace my shoulder but as soon as we bound the green hedge splitting Uncle Bob's and Red's driveways after cutting through a yard, I wriggle him off and mingle around the bodies of Price Mart coworkers, Kitty's fellow housewives and nurses chicks, and toss him a half-assed wave hopping downstairs. Feeling a sudden tug on my shoulder in the kitchen hall, I internally sigh at the sight of a petite, middle-aged blonde by the name of Kitty Foreman.

"There you are, sweetie! It's so great to have everyone together again." Giggling happily, she drifts blue over my stature – the Forman's are known for their blue eyes – and reaches up to maternally cup my angular face and straighten my shirt collar to her liking – out of habit I assume. "My goodness, you look so much like her." A cute, cackled whine of equal parts sadness and stupefaction escapes her throat.

Thanks for reminding me.

Retracting her touch, she swipes a platter of snacks off the counter and – of course she hands them to me – stretches to accommodate the height difference between us so she can properly squeeze my arm for…moral support, I guess? "Do me a favor and take these to the gang in the basement, Gabriella."

A robust chuckle angles my neck toward the den, knowing Dad's enjoying his reunion among the faces he grew up with.

"He'll be fine, sweetie. We'll take good care of RP. Just go have fun, watch some PBS and eat your snacks. Oh, and here! Have some punch!"

Nodding slowly at her bouncy blonde curls rattling in its typical fashion I don't even want to try to figure out however long it takes to do, I nod. "Sure thing. Thanks, Kitty."

She smiles encouragingly, releasing another round of giggles as she prances to the den with a second pitcher laced with vodka – if my nose is correct – where the tiny nurse greets my giver-of-life, her quirky personality no doubt taking him back in time.

At least I know where Eric gets his sense of humor from because Red sure as hell doesn't have one. Well, unless there's a foot and an ass involved, then that makes him smile. Usually.

At the top of the landing, I close the door and decent the _L_ shaped stairwell.

"There she is! You're past curfew, young lady."

Paying Eric a flat look with underlying mirth, I set the jalapeno poppers and fruit punch pitcher on a pinwheel table in front of the old as shit sofa and plop on the cushion nearest to Hyde – the curly haired guy who I apparently sat with at lunch…now that I think about it, he was sleeping with his head down. Discovering my beers on the freezer, I ask Kelso to chuck me one since he's practically on his knees before the booze altar with all the ogling he's doing and easily catch it.

"Hot Poppers! Rad!" Kelso shovels at least three in his pie hole like an animal.

Gross, man. Shut your mouth.

"Kelso, eat it, don't wear it. You look like a geriatric rediscovering straws after his fifth stroke, man."

In the middle of tipping back her can, Donna chokes from swallowing wrong, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and snickers once she's no longer drowning on shitty beer.

"Kelso man, y'might want some ice for that wicked burn." Hyde recommends, snorting at the open-mouth offense Kelso casts my direction.

Quite proud of myself, I crack mine open after tapping the top.

"What're you doin' that for?"

"Like I trust you to not shake a beer." Swallowing crisp alcohol, I glare at Kelso.

"I wouldn't put it past you either, man." Hyde sets his drained drink aside. "But you always find a way to hurt yourself and that's a guaranteed laugh."

The sofa shifts oddly and not a second later, something bony as hell slams into my back; hissing, not painfully but annoyed that he almost made me spill my drink, I twist myself enough to shove his face away from me until I'm satisfied the fanboy's no longer invading my space while Donna warns him of my right hook. Eric lounges smugly on the opposite end of the sofa examining a _Darth Vader_ bouncy ball he used to play with himself earlier, ignoring the daggers I glare at him, cheerily asking like the little shit he is, "So, got everything unpacked?"

"Forty-six boxes in seven days. What do you think?"

Someone shoot me. I can't do small talk, all it is bullshit. I don't know if anyone's noticed, but I'm a direct person. Give me the meat and potatoes of the situation, the cock and balls, whatever; I don't need all the drama bullshit some people thrive on. It's takes up too much valuable time that could be used for something thrilling.

Glimpsing to the foreign kid I share Gym and English Lit with in the corner who has yet to say a word since I came down here, I catch him gaze dead on to give him a_ "what do you want?" _look. After a solid minute of eye contact, I break to scoff and smirk at what a sore thumb he is despite my best efforts. "What, Fez?"

"I was just wondering if I may touch your long, silky hair." Dreamily and creepily, whispers to himself, "So silky."

Here we go. The guy couldn't stop watch me jog laps in gym. I have to say, when someone stares at me, it annoys the holy hell out of me. You want to look at something? Get a damn mirror, creep.

"You got hair. Touch your own."

The kid's accent slightly muddles his words, making it hard to understand him most of the time; he has a talent for making everything sounding like one word. "Yes, but it is not to my tight, nimble waist."

"Yeah, that's sooo not happening." My grip on aluminum tightens, enforcing confidence in my plan to snatch the rubber ball from Eric who's deadpanned look echoes one Red Foreman; a return him a devious mien, executing my goal to throw the ball hard enough to ricochet of the far wall.

Unfortunately for Kelso, it knocks him flat on his ass.

The group titters their praise and howl laughter when the victim of _Vader's_ wrath unsteadily rises with the unblemished ball in one hand, of which is plucked by a shit-faced Eric, and a black eye on that "gorgeous" face of his.

Jackie's loverboy gasps, "OW!"

"I swear, I didn't plan that, but it couldn't have happened any better." I admit; popping up to glide beyond Hyde and grapple a bag of okra from the deep freezer, I pretend to throw the bag at Kelso who flinches and covers his face, making me bust up again. "C'mon, man. Underhand."

That's right: I can be nice. _Can_. It's a choice.

Donna draws my attention. "I don't remember your hair being long when we're little. I've heard of people weaving hair into their scalp is popular in the city…?"

You got to be kidding me. Shit, these people don't know me at all.

To prove the point of being natural, I push my beer in Hyde's hand and stand behind him to swirl my head and rattle platinum locks. "Can extensions do that? C'mon," I point at Fez, finger waving him over. "This is a onetime only special."

Okra slapped on half his face, Kelso cheers way too excitedly and pumps a fist to the ceiling, "We got a head-banger in the gang! All right!"

Fez lights up and immediately gingers his fingers to massage my scalp, after he beckons me to sit on the cushioned stool beside Hyde's chair.

Whoa. OK, I take it back. He's surprisingly really good at this.

"You have the shiny, silky, soft hair, Gabriella."

Ok, I'm not sure what he called me but "_Ga-pre-ela_" isn't my name. This typically wouldn't make me laugh out loud, only people getting hurt is funny enough to laugh at, or a smoke session, but Fez's misstep would've earned no more than a closed-lip smile. That accent makes everything funnier and maybe the booze is kicking in. I'm not a lightweight by any means, but I haven't touched a beer in months simply because of spending lots of time with loved ones I left behind and packing for the inevitable. I haven't had time to wind down or kick back and have a cold one. I haven't had a full breath of air in six months since Dad first got the offer and began considering it from a Point Place's Captain, a childhood buddy, who happened to be in the city at the right place at the right time. Time seems to be my enemy these days.

Feeling a particular _zing_ of pleasure brought on by relaxation and glee rub through my temples born from the simultaneous skill of nail and caress, I hum involuntarily. Softly.

"Is she…? No way. …right?" Almost appalled, Eric turns to evaluate us, landing on my half-lidded eyes as a focused Fez stands behind me happily divulged in the task at hand.

"Hmm? What was that?" I chuckle reluctantly, sighing heavily, and feel him gather the thick body of my hair at the base of my neck. "One more minute, Fez."

I wonder if he knows how to braid.

Ears pricked, I hear Donna snigger and the familiar friction of aluminum grazing cement.

"Gabriella."

There he goes again.

"_Ga-bri-ella_." I try to help a guy out by breaking it down.

"That is what I said. _Ga-pre-eela_."

The redhead nods negative. "That is so not what you said."

Copying his motion by grabbing the bundles at the base of my neck to ward his touch, I squat his hand when he tries to graze the turquoise feather woven into a small collection of strands behind my left ear. "The special's over, man."

Man, I haven't felt that chill without a blaze in...I don't even know when. Definitely before Dad told me about the job offer, before I told Nicky I was moving across the country. Fucking rad. Now I miss Nicky again.

Carding a hand through pale blonde after hopping over Hyde's crossed feet on the pinwheel table, as Fez takes the stool, to sit on Eric since Kelso took my sofa seat so I can distract these unearthed feelings, I get up right when he stops trying to push me off or wiggle his bony ass beneath me, only when he's totally submissive and has thrown in the towel. Downing the remains of my beer, I set it on the side table between Hyde's chair and the couch and eyeball the phone.

Maybe I should – no. What are you doing, Gabriella? C'mon, man. You think he'll answer after you left him hanging? He was your best friend and you totally dropped him like nothing. ... What's wrong with me? Am I so unable to feel that I just don't give a fuck?

_Gilligan's Island_ drowns my thoughts, gravitating me to glimpse at the clock hanging ominously above the bunny-eared TV.

It's already been an hour. That's enough time to hang. I need to unearth and organize my clothes by color anyway.

A gaffing Kelso stops chewing on one of the few poppers left, swinging such shiny, feathery hair toward the basement door where I'm spotted leaving. "Hey, where you goin'?"

Peeling open the door, I send Eric a neutral look recalling our past conversation. "Got stuff to do. I'll see you later."

"'Kay. See you tomorrow, Gabriella." Donna waves.

For what he may think passes as bedroom eyes, a strained-faced Fez takes a couple suave steps my direction until he's standing like a foot away. "Yes, yes. Come by any time, beautiful."

"Uh-huh." I cock my neck and say to no one in particular, "Thanks for the beer."

Your welcome, Brie!

Door shut, I climb the cement stairwell and peter to a driveway similar in length and width to my own.

I don't know if I'll ever call Point Place home, if I'll ever get over New York. Guess time will tell. Should I call Nicky? Man, I love that long haired hunk. Then again, I don't need him hating me more than he does and I don't think I can take the rejection. This blows. Whatever. Hopefully looking at my favorite picture of him will do the trick.

Hearing the sliding door open and close, I raise mascaraed lashes to Red carrying a plate full of raw patties to a scalding charcoal grill.

I haven't really spoken to the guy since last week when he came over with Eric and Donna to move boxes out of the moving trunk into the three bedroom I now reside in. He helped Dad and Uncle Bob put my bed and bookcases together; he lifted my vanity dresser and chest of drawers up the stairs. He may not seem like it, but he's sweet in his own way. Like Dad.

"Hey, Red."

He barely pays me a glance, reverting to swapping raw meat for seared protein. "Hi."

Man, and I think I sound disinterested.

"I'd ask if you're enjoying yourself, but we both know how people are."

He huffs, "A bunch of dumbasses."

"Yeah. Do you need an extra hand before I head back? It's not like I got anything else to do."

I inch back a bit when he fully faces me to scales my honesty with a scrutinizing eye, inspecting me like I'm a bug he should squish, metal spatula firm in his grip ready to swat.

"What do you want?"

What a crab ass.

"Nothing. I uh, appreciate you helping out Dad and I. I know you're obligated to do it because of your history and all, but I know you didn't want too. So thanks. If you don't need anything, I'm going to head home." Hands tucked and hair flying behind my shoulders as a September breeze floats by, I walk backwards to the garage giving him plenty of time to speak up while holding Red's unreadable gaze. My body flinches a little when I bump into the Vista Cruiser.

That would've been cool, to walk away all smooth and shit. But that stupid car got in my freaking way. Why is it always _my_ shit getting fucked with?

"I have Eric for crap like that. God knows he needs the heavy lifting."

I nod in agreement.

He is scrawny.

Returning to tend red meat, Red clears his throat, "I'll have Kitty make a plate to send home with RP."

Something tells me he doesn't say things remotely nice like this often or do thoughtful gestures period. No wonder he sounds so awkward.

Leaving him in solitude, I venture through the garage and hop Donna's fence before entering my yard.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****: Yes, yes I know, "2 THAT '70s FICS?! Why"? Well, because I want it that way - that's why. If you're familiar with my 1st T7S Fic with Phoenix, then you'll come 2 realize as these SEPERATE fics continue that Brie and Phoenix are completely different women, totally polar opposites on the bitchy rebel vs innocent cinnamon roll spectrum. Brie was created 1st & is my favorite right now because I love her attitude, as she is the closest 2 a "villain" bad girl type I've ever written. As for the disclaimer, duh I don't own That '70s Show, only the original crap you don't recognize is mine. ****Face Claims**** will be posted below, as always. Feel free 2 PM if you're interested in Beta-ing any future content concerning the fics currently posted :D CC during R&R is uber appreciated!**

**LADIES****:**

**Christina Applegate ('90s style) - Gabriella "Brie" Pinciotti**

**Claudia Schiffer ('90s style) - Chelsea**

**GENTLEMEN****:**

**John Travolta ('90s style) - Richard "RP" Pinciotti**


	2. Heard it Through the Grapevine

2

~ Heard it Through the Grapevine ~

Man, can the clock go any slower? I think the sun will explode and scorch the human race before I get out of this hell hole.

Taking brief notes on geometry equations and how to decipher one from the millions of other ones by with hieroglyphics I swear aren't of this world, I sprawl comfortably in my desk with one leg bent into my chest and the other resting on the back of the kid's – Jake or Jeremy or Jerome…one of the zillion J names – seat in front of me.

Mrs. Kay rambles on about paring letters with numbers – something that goes against everything I believe in – while a jock up front snores akin to a freight train on his desk.

Someone's hungover. I bet he's drooling too and if I were Kay, I'd make him wipe down every table for it.

Quickly losing interest with the graying instructor's flimsy but gracious justification of why we need to learn this when a kid complains, I flip to a fresh page in my textured notebook and ponder things that really matter.

Kay's not too harsh for a brainiac, a bit socially awkward and way too serious for teaching high schoolers with raging libidos but hey, someone married her. … Is it possible that there's someone out there for everyone?

Along with the date, September 12th, I write that last part down.

Or maybe some people were built to be alone. Yeah, makes sense why Nicky and I never worked out, it just wasn't meant to be. Damnit. I have to stop thinking so hard about this shit or my head's going kill me. ...or I'm dry and need to wet my whistle. I wonder which one of these dumbasses has a stash.

Passing an eye over the crowd of idle bodies – so glad I picked a seat in the back row – I glance over a boy who's looking at me dead on and isn't hiding it either.

No, who's _been_ looking at me.

Brow quirking in times of annoyance or wonder, I also convey my unfriendliness with a dry glance, internally screaming at him to take a hint.

I'm not in the mood, blondie.

I scowl as he folds a piece of paper, bumps the girl by him to pass it like a chain to me, all the while Kay limbos on about square roots and a variety of degrees. Snagging the paper from the boy on my left whose busy scribbling notes like a champ, I tear it in half without examination and toss the remains over a shoulder.

Thanks but no thanks, man.

I lag tired eyes at Donna up front as she sees me metaphorically pouting in the corner, clearly amused before she completes a double-take at my message sender across the room behind her, only to whirl astonishment and an open jaw on me.

I don't get why she's so giddy. Eric, insisting to carpool Donna and I, made me miss my morning cup of caffeine because he was so pumped to drive the damn grocery-getter to school for the first time. It's taking every fucking fiber in my body to not walk out on these duds and bug the lunch lady for a cup of hot water. I just want my tea, man!

Donna's hot on my ass when the bell screams, as the room drains of adolescence. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

I'm hugging a couple books unceremoniously, cramming a pencil between the pages for safekeeping. "I fucking missed my fucking cup of fucking tea. I need tea to fucking function, man," Remorse, I sigh a gentle, "Fuck."

"I'm pretty sure you can get a decent cup in drama club." She banters, attempting to sound smug.

She's the nicer Pinciotti out of the two of us so it always a treat when she puts extra effort to act all "rebellious", which we both know she's not. Besides Eric, my cousin's the most straight-laced square I know.

Exiting Satan's alphabet class, I go with the flow of a tacky gas station perfumes, body odor galore and – great. I was just crop dusted – crowded halls, simultaneously scanning the room numbers for my next class with mild discretion. "There's nothing dramatic about caffeine. My stupid radio clock didn't go off, damn thing probably got fucked in the move." I tuck my nose into my elbow and hold my breath, praying the kid ahead of me won't blow cut the month old dumpster cheese, that death by flatulence asphyxiation won't be the lame-ass way I leave this even lamer life.

Fuck this is worse than Fez' cologne, and I swear he wears half a bottle of milked beaver's ass a day.

"Someone fucked? You finally seal the deal with Foreman, Pinciotti?"

Hyde.

"Pretty sure that's for you." I prompt Donna who's too busy doing her best impression of a tomato.

Hesitant, she does that thing where she's angry but its awkward; as she growls, "_get bent. Both of you_", her foot stomps at us both to put the fear of God in us.

It's more adorable than threatening by all means.

He only simpers lightheartedly at her and shifts to adjust an armful of academics, certainly going out of his way to ignore me.

"'Sup, Hyde?"

Knowing he has a stick up his ass and doesn't care for me for whatever stupid reason considering he's never said a damn word to me, I hesitate to tear away from those grey thunderclouds spearing me in place, strangely. You'd think he would look different without the aviator sunglasses, but somehow he's managed to execute the same stoic and blank demeanor they provide without them. It's one hell of a pokerface and considering I lived in the most famous city in America where that brand's more common than it not, it's pretty damn impressive. It rivals mine when I'm not having any of anyone's shit. It's possible that if I catch him off guard, maybe he'll say something I can work with. I mean, I don't need to be buds with the guy but we have to be civil. We hang with the same group, may as well make the best of it. Peace before war, man.

No reply. Not even a glance. He just stands there busying himself with a distraction in the form of cheerleaders parting a juvenile sea, allowing his neck to crane after the skanky uniforms Jackie and her parade of morons sashay on by.

'Kay. Be that way.

"Donna, did you hear something? Yeah, I believe it's the mythical man of few words. Legend is, if you're an ass to his face, he'll bark back. So tell me, man of few words, is it true?" Books slumped in my arms, I hold an equally blank stare with the delinquent before angling toward the uneasy redhead. "I'll catch you in fifth period."

"Sounds good. We can talk about Kent, too."

Who?

"Kent?"

She inches close and lowers her voice – I imagine so Hyde won't hear but for whatever reason why, I have no clue – her tone is excited and a bit higher than normal, indicating she's been spending waaaay too much time with a tiny stage four clinger. "The guy who passed you a love note."

Unamused, showing her that I don't care who hears what, I retort, "Guess you didn't see the part where I didn't read his bullshit and ripped it to shreds."

Pales orbs snap wide. "What?! Why on earth would you do that? It's Kent Trinke!"

"So? The guy could've been Lou Reed but you think Lou would've passed a flimsy note? No. He would've grew a pair and gone after it because it mattered enough to him to do it in the first place. And then he would've wrote a rad song about it."

A true man has the balls to talk face to face with the person he cares about no matter the risk or consequences. I don't do fake shit and I consider stupid notes small talk.

"God, Gabriella. How do you say such harsh stuff and sound so innocent at the same time?"

My head tips for a thoughtful moment; I ultimately shrug a shoulder. "I don't know. Guess I'm unable to give a shit."

She frowns at that and passes some math notes to Hyde before joining the flow of frolicking imbeciles.

Not caring about being late to biology or even showing up, I hold a notebook and two slim textbooks to my chest. I start to open my mouth but snap my jaw once I spot Kelso bolt sloppily toward us like a damn freight train and collide through several random bodies to haul ass in the hall, hollering something about Pam Macy and a cake passed us, a pulse of amusement lifts my spirts as his tall stature slaps into a teacher which sends paper flying everywhere and both of them on their asses. Mildly confused to spy Hyde studying me, I break the tension stirring uncomfortably between us. "We're never going to be cool, are we?"

"Probably not." He says blandly, a couple beats later when I doubted he'd say anything.

The way he tenses his shoulders clearly shows he's unsure of something or is at least anxious. And I get it, I do. It's not easy to deal with new people. It's best to not get close, that way if you have to bail it's easier on both parties to forget and move on.

I depart from the row of lockers he's leaning on. "Thanks, man."

"For what?" He almost sounds offended and actually crinkles confusion between his brows.

"Saving me the trouble from caring enough to like you."

The rest of the day was routine and uneventful. At least I know who I'll be doing group projects with so that's rad. In Biology, I'll do everything solo since Hyde and Kelso are in my second period and it's hard to concentrate with Kelso hitting on me despite his demeaning relationship with Jackie, who I met in sixth period Gym and is an absolute airhead, and Hyde's general disconnection to me. Whatever. Anyway, at least Eric's my Hail Mary at lunch and we can insult the hell out of Jackie or I can make him let me copy his homework. Her girly shrilly voice is _piercing_ to the ears. I'd rather spend the day with Kitty's quirky optimism than be trapped in a room with Jackie's overwhelming flamboyance. A tiger will do too. It's not that I hate her, I hardly allow myself to hate anyone except for the whore Dad's shacked up with. Jackie's an acquired taste and to my surprise, she offered to go shopping with me after pissing on my hippie agenda. I bet she'll want to make her personal doll if her "_my money, my pick_" mindset means anything. But hell, she offered and I happen to have a high pain tolerance.

Savoring the spicy incense illustrating a line of smoke on a shelf neighboring a bonsai tree near my curtained window, I peel back the thin fabric and pin it on either side of the tall frame with a couple clothesline pins before raising the glass and straddling the sill. One leg freely swinging outside a two story fall, I bring scalding chamomile to my lips. Used to burning my tongue and not fazed by its rough texture – I kinda enjoy it actually – I reach back and set the pottery mug on the edge of a Cherrywood desk.

I don't listen to the _Bee Gees_ often, but today seems right, especially with the fact that I'm going to spend the evening with Jackie. He's an idiot, but I hope Kelso comes to take the edge off. Hyde wasn't kidding when he said Kelso hurts himself and damn, it's fucking hilarious.

Winding twine around circular metal wire, I knot the end of the leather and unspool two feet of black yarn to fill the circle's void.

New place, new dreams. I may as well make a new dream catcher. Hell, maybe this one'll work.

"_Gabriella! Which one of these giant doors is your room?_" Jackie's screechy voice pollutes the carpeted hallway. Not a moment later, my door parts to a pink sweater, jean skirt combo with soot black hair pinned back by a glittery headband. "There you are. _Ugh_, what is that smell?" Her nose scrunches dejectedly, yet she sits in the crochet saucer chair in the corner. Dark eyes trace the white Christmas lights winding my bookcases, shelves and sticks her nose up at my dim but calming ambiance. She grafts over the giant multi-toned tie-dye blue rug consuming beige carpet.

No Kelso? Damn, that's a bummer.

"Cinnamon, lemon, and eucalyptus. You sure you still want to go after seeing my vibe?"

"Totally. You're absolutely a grungy hippie but I can work with that. Hippies have a lot of color, which is what you have." Standing, she leafs through the drawers of my dresser, finding delicate thongs and a variety of bras, and continues peeling back different fabrics of patterned, solid, and stripped materials in my closet until she abruptly stops. "Ew! You wear band t-shirts?"

"So?"

"It's fifty percent polyester! That's poor people clothing, Gabriella."

Warm herbal tea finds its way into my mouth. "I'm pretty sure you think any fabric is poor people's clothing if it's not on you, Jackie."

Hand to her heart, she smiles approvingly and inhales a blissful sigh of satisfaction, overlooking the concern drawing my features. "Why thank you! I knew we'd be great friends. Well, you have to cut off all that skuzzy hair and then we'll be great friends."

I haven't had a pair of scissors near my scalp since I was twelve and I'm not going to start now. Besides, who ever said I wanted to be friends with a rich girl? ...eh. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, she _is_ _rich_ after all.

Knowing Donna's lack of enthusiasm for the dwarf, I test the waters, "And Donna?"

Jackie dismisses a pair of splatter print joggers behind her. "Ew, she's a total goon. And red hair? Yuck. At least you have decent bone structure, not as symmetrical as me, no one is, but you're a step up from you're cousin. Hey, how are you related to her? Is it like an adoption thing or _oh_ – are you from one of those love juice banks?"

Fuck, she talks a hundred miles an hour. How do they put up with her in the basement? I bet those bastards are laughing their asses off. Love juice banks?

"You mean a _sperm bank_? Nope. Not adopted either. RP wanted to travel after high school so he went out of country, met a girl. They screwed, he brought her over, she had me, she bailed, we lived here till I was about six until we moved to New York where he became a cop. Uncle Bob just never left the coop, I guess." I pour the last quarter of tea out the window into the backyard and shrink inside, hand over my mouth to contain my glee when the sunbathing wicked bitch below screams; the mug's aside for another steep before bed. "Wow. It almost doesn't sound complicated when it's put like that."

Jackie tilts her head quizzically, ultimately voting to disregard the complexity of that phenomenon. She squats on my thick queen mattress that's flush to the floor, making it lower than most frames considering I elected to ditch the box spring and frame for lighter packing and traveling. "And not very romantic. You left out all the juicy details. Tell me everything!"

"Why? So you'll run your big mouth to everyone at school?"

"No!" She interjects too quickly, proving I'm right. "If we're going to be somewhat friends, I'd like to know who I'm around."

Oddly, Hyde's cool carefree persona flashes in my mind.

Fucking life parallels, man. I know what I have to do and damn my hopeful, black heart for getting the better of me.

"If I tell you, you have to promise to not utter a word to anyone. If you do, the entire class will know you're a natural carrot top. And I pick what I want at the mall."

"But I'm not –" Rocketing to booted feet with a slight wobble due to the depth difference and those horrid heels, she gasps, "You bitch! You wouldn't!"

Threading a web effect in the inner circle of the catcher with yellow yawn, I nestle on the end of my mattress. "I wouldn't underestimate me if I were you, man."

Angry look shrouding her dark features, the popular girl concedes against my loftiness, "Fine! No one would believe you anyway."

"Then why'd you agree to it?" I can't help but evilly purse my lips.

"Shut up, Gabriella! And you only get to pick _one_ thing."

"Everything."

Lilac arms crossed, she negotiates sternly, "Fine. But I pick one outfit and you can't say a single thing about it!"

If it's pink, I'll re-gift it to her or something, maybe pass it to Donna. She and I are more physically alike than Jackie and I. I'm taller than Little Mrs. Spoiled but Donna has a few solid inches on me and I'm a bit more voluptuous than Jackie and when I say "voluptuous" I mean my chest. My hair is so strikingly blonde, it's nearly white in some lighting, so obviously lighter than Dad and Uncle Bob's but closer in relation to Kitty, Midge and Laurie's honey blonde simply because we're in the blonde category. My heart-shaped face, thick lips, toasted fair complexion and quick metabolism is from my other half of genetics.

My mouth is ajar for a quip but a knock leads me to a door cluttered by a crowed coatrack.

On his way to change out of uniform from a day's work of busting the local dumbasses, Dad's voice vibrates equal parts strict and questioningly, "Brie, there's a boy for you downstairs."

A bo –

"Oh my god. You tramp! Who is he?"

"Have fun shopping, Buttercup."

Grimacing at my father, he turns around snickering but cringes at the pitch of Jackie's mindless chatter – and knowing him well, he cringes all the way to master bedroom at the top of the stairwell.

Serves you right for picking on me, Officer Smug-Ass. I still know he's never going let me live this down.

My fortress being the final room at the end of the hall, I blow out the incense, remove the needle from a record, and slip a fringe poncho over the camisole I wore to school. Leather moccasins on and turquoise belt buckle tying the casualness together, I tuck a wallet in my back pocket.

"Gross. You use a wallet? Wallets are for boys, Gabriella. God, no wonder you agreed to go shopping."

"It's practical."

It's less bulky than having a strap strangle my shoulder that'll fall down my shoulder and I can't risk a back ache from an elbow bag or the annoyance of forming a uni-boob from a cross-body, that's for sure.

Stopping short on the stairwell to find Chelsea sitting provocatively on the couch and eyeballing Fez in something more modest than a bikini in the yard that nobody needs to witness, I fold my arms over a cropped poncho.

An aghast Jackie slaps a hand to her mouth. "You're doing Fez?"

That'd be a magic trick.

"Not that I know of."

Our voices present him an excuse to get away from her touchy-feely antics.

Chelsea literally licks her chops at the sight of his ass in too-tight bellbottoms as he turns to walk out the front door at my command.

Skank.

I usher them out and lock the door. "Let's get out of here."

I hop off a wide cement porch when Jackie bluntly asks Fez why he's here if he isn't doing me.

"Donna told me how you were going to do the shopping with Gabriella and I wanted to see you model no clothing."

Well, he doesn't have an issue being honest. And seriously, I can't handle the way he says my name. Knowing me, I'll be giggling every time he says it and I refuse being all bubbly like that. I don't know how our little excursion's gonna go and I don't want to lead Jackie on that I had a good time if really it was a disaster. I don't wanna be stuck with her out of obligation.

"What did he call you?"

Seconding Jackie's point, I lead the pair to the driveway where a baby blue Volkswagen Beetle awaits us. "Fez, just call me Brie."

His shimmer happily. "Brie. Oo I like that."

"Brie? What is that? A childhood fatty name? Wait, have you ever been fat?"

In shotgun of the convertible, I morph a flippant look. "You are the vainest person I've ever met, and I grew up in New York."

"Gabriella, you are quickly becoming one of my favorite people!" She flaunts a pearly smile, baffling me with her arrogance, and decks on oval sunglasses secondary to pink lip gloss.

WHY? That's not a compliment!

I toss a perplexed expression to the foreigner sitting in the middle seat behind us.

He leans forward, resting his arms on the bench seat Jackie and I share as the engine breaths life. "You have RP's eyes, Brie. They are beautiful."

"Word of advice, man, if you want to hit on a girl, don't start off with any male family members."

The driver snorts, "Yeah. You totally hit on her dad."

"I did not!" He slumps in the back bench, pouting with a crimson face, as the Beetle slows at a red light.

"Did too." Jackie makes an impressive left turn.

I try my best to memorize the directions via street names as we gravitate downtown two miles in the ride. "Did Kelso get detention for crashing into that teacher yesterday?"

"For a _week_. I can't even see him because his parents grounded him. How idiotic do you have to be to get in detention in the first week of school? They don't even hand out homework until the second week. Idiot."

Fez inches forward until he's practically in her ear. "Pretty stupid. Which is why you should dump his handsome ass and go out with me, my dear."

"He has a point."

"Ew! Like I'd date a weird foreign guy. C'mon, Gabriella, I can't be seen with someone like that."

Fuck, she's horrible. He's sitting right here! She truly is an airhead if it didn't click with the princess that my mom isn't from here either. From what I know about the guy, Fez is sweet, a little invasive to personal space and has the libido of a virgin in a whorehouse, but sweet.

"Someone like what? A person?"

"It's ok, Brie. Jackie's rudeness is how she shows affection. Isn't that right, baby?"

Pausing the Beetle at a crosswalk, the dwarf warns, "Buzz off, Fez."

"Right." He suddenly points to a humble brick building. "Hey. Donna, Eric and Hyde are at the Hub!"

"The Hub?" I echo.

"Yeah, it's ok for this side of town. They have pinball, a jukebox, and food. It's the hangout of the town."

"And it's a great place to pick up the ladies." His suspiciously perfectly groomed eyebrows wriggle excitedly.

"When have you ever picked up a lady?"

He mumbles, "Never. God, I will be a virgin forever!" His face falls shamefully into his palms.

People shouldn't take life so seriously, no one makes it out alive anyway. So worrying about sex, it's pointless. I'm not saying it isn't important, because it is when you're in that moment, but to revolve around it? I don't think so. I'd rather be free than chained to anyone. I learned that lesson the hard way.

"That possibility is highly unlikely, man. Everyone has the opportunity to fuck once, you just have to go for it." Punching the radio on, I cringe at the soprano of _Olivia Newton John's_ voice.

Someone give me a pair of scissors so I can jab them in my ears.

"Oo I love this song! Turn it up!"

"No!" I exclaim. Eager to distract them, I change the subject, "Either of you have a cigarette?"

"You smoke, um, anything other than cigarettes?"

Jackpot.

Facing the backseat with a friendly closed-lipped smirk, I scale my sight over his striped shirt. "You cool, man?"

"I think so, yes."

Stuck in small town traffic, Jackie hands me a tube of lip gloss. "Here."

"No thanks. Skincare and mascara's the only wingman I need."

The brunette snorts, "Not from where I'm sitting. You're in public with me. Put some on."

Just when I'm about to tell her where to go, Fez chimes, "If you do not like it you can take it off. What's the harm in looking hot, Brie?"

People will stare at me.

Folding up the mirror once applying a thin coat of rosy pink, I home the tube in a cup holder and look up just in time as the Beetle parks.

"It's actually not too ugly. C'mon, I bet blues will pop your eyes!"

I guess in Jackie Talk that means "_you're actually pretty_". Hell, I'll take what I'm offered from this girl because god knows Jackie Burkhart does not give out compliments like its candy.

Passing Fez as he holds the door open for Jackie to sway inside, I whisper to him, "Let me know when you want to bail and we'll high tail it to the Hub. Maybe find a guy and blaze it up?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Moistening his lips eagerly, he matches my pace in pursuit of a boutique Jackie gleefully skips ahead to stalk racks of blinding colors in a manner very reminiscent of a lioness. "But keep your clothes on. We'll escape faster."

I don't get why he's making a big deal over nothing, Fez is a good guy. He'll find someone.

Bumping shoulders with him, I tone nonchalantly, "I'll put in a good word for you at school."

"A good word about what?"

Man, he'll be in for a pleasant surprise.

"Never mind."

The next day at school I'm getting a lot more looks than before. It's the boots, I know it is. Jackie said they would "_elongate my legs_". Well, they seem to be doing their job. I like them, I do, but they're not made to be worn in a place with a large population of guys. … Or maybe they _are_? If so, I have to give credit where credit is due because maybe, just maybe she isn't that big of a dumbass. _Maybe_. I won't admit it unless she tries to burn me by calling me something tacky among "lady of the night" or if I'm asked how much I charge. Hopefully not though, so I can enjoy them because damn, they're fucking glorious.

Squeezing through swaths of bodies to a green carpet freshly manicured, I find Eric sitting on the plaid blanket he keeps in his locker for such occasions. Seeing that the view overlooks a caged baseball field and a decent sized football field in the distance, I wet my finger and cram it in his ear.

"Ugh! C'mon!"

"Hey, you didn't notice me first. It's fair game, man." Noticing the Biology book on the blanket and a flapping notebook in his lap due to the breeze, his pencil moving diligently, I plop diagonal to one of my closest confidants in the gang while dunking a ginseng teabag in a steaming cup. "Why're you trying so hard?"

"Gee, I don't know. It's not like my entire life rides on how well I do in high school. Forgive me if I don't want to live with Red for the rest of my life."

Honestly, I bet Red would smother Eric in his sleep before he'd let the grown kid be a dumbass for the rest of their lives; in a poetic way, it'd be a mercy kill.

Inhaling the scent warm in my palms, I take a tentative sip. "That's a myth."

"What?" His pencil stops wiggling on dead trees.

It's so fun fucking with him, he's too easy.

"People only say that because they want to scare you so you'll panic and stress yourself out to be the best. No one's perfect, Eric. Then you waste money on some fancy school and apply for the career you went into just to be rejected. These things start out small at first. They get you to start worrying about meaningless shit like tests and essays because it gives them control. You become programmed now so you won't question any of it later because if you do, you don't trust the system and then they bill you and eventually leave you with nothing. Fuck the system. Take my word of advice and don't let anyone, especially a useless number on a piece of paper, measure your worth." Biting into my favorite sandwich and washing it down with steeped tea, I pop a slice of cantaloupe in the feeding hole and cross stretched legs as Jackie approaches. "Jackie incoming."

Eric returns to work, hesitating to do so as he pinches a thoughtful brow. All too soon, he makes that paper his bitch.

"Eric. Hi, Gabriella! Oh my god, you're wearing the boots!"

I wince at the fawning squeal of her voice.

I guarantee every dog in a five mile radius just had a seizure. I know I did.

"So, I was thinking we should get our nails done after school. A French manicure would do you good."

I glare at Eric's snarky little smirk and tear my hand from her scrutiny, unaware she even touched me.

Man, she's sneaky.

Dusting my hands of crumbs once polishing peanut butter on butter, I offer Eric a slice of melon that he chomps. "Hard pass."

"Why?" Her arms pout across her chest. "I had fun dressing you in clothes that'd flatter me better."

Polishing my teeth via tongue, I tip the remains of my drink. "Because there's this thing called 'freedom' and I don't have to do anything I don't want too and I don't want too."

"Eric, are you interested in a manicure? I mean, you're half girl anyway so it's only fair to offer."

I'd be lying if I said he doesn't have delicate hands. Because he does; they're nicer than Donna's.

To be a smartass, he examines his own nails and waggles them looking so much like Red, but only for the briefest of seconds. "You're a little late, I just got mine done. Did you ask Donna?"

"No. I didn't think she'd want to go."

I say a bit harsher than I mean, "And you think_ I_ would?"

"No need to be bitchy. You had your swamp water, get over yourself."

I need to get over myself? She's the damnedest hypocrite I've ever met!

"Ok so change of subject," Eric cranes to me. "I see you have no problem making problems."

"Your point?"

"Nothing. I was just going to ask why you hate Hyde."

I hate him? Wow. I love how everyone thinks they know what I'm feeling or what I'm thinking. I really hate that actually.

"I doubt he cares what I think of him. So that leaves you, Eric. But for the sake of 'what if', let's pretend I care about his perception of me; why do you care?"

He shrugs dismissively, sipping on chocolate calcium from a carton. "Oh, no reason. It's just, you're part of the gang and I want all my friends to be friends or at least be civil."

"Peace before war, man. I'm as civil as civil gets." My gaze runs lazily over a handful of groups eating their lunch conversing, laughing and studying. Hyde nowhere in sight, I glance at Jackie nibbling on a bag of petite carrots on her corner of the blanket examining a stray piece of paper from someone or whatever. Swallowing a sip of tea and basking in the warmth of summer's final breaths amplify the afternoon sunlight as the incoming crisp air of fall lingers closer with each day, I lean back on my hands and cross my legs Indian style before inhaling deeply. Eyes closed in a ray of heat, white waves flagging freely in the gentle breeze, I assume, "He skip or something?"

I hear Eric reply, "He didn't have a ride and he refuses to walk ten miles to school."

Peeking an eye at the uncharacteristically glum and dead tone of his voice, the sharp movement Jackie's French braid flipping behind a shoulder catches my eye. "Why don't you pick him up, Eric? That degenerate is your best friend."

"Hey, cool it on the 'degenerate' talk."

She says confidently, "You can't be a degenerate if your Dad's a cop, Gabriella."

"I most certainly can. Only reason I don't have any charges is because he can't stand the idea of putting his little girl behind bars. RP and I, we got a good thing. Well, good for me, I don't know about him."

"Wait, so what you're saying is that you get a 'get out of jail free' card if you're busted?"

I nod positively, shrugging noncommittedly.

It's really not that big of a deal because I don't plan on having to use it; in the same breath, I'm not saying that I may need too either. Shit happens.

Eric and Jackie share a look I can't quite decipher.

Ok, that's freaky. For the majority of the time I've observed their commentary and body language, these two hate each other. Well, I'm sure Eric doesn't really hate anyone, he's too well-rounded and kind to stoop there. He has his stern but loving parents to thank for that. Now Jackie, she doesn't need to verbalize her hate, her eyes and disgust says it all. But from what I know about her, she'd say she hates you anyway just for the hell of it and burn your wardrobe as a bonus. So it's a bit bizarre for me to see them exchange a look, a moment of nonverbal communication on some level of understanding, from one nerdy boy scout to one cheerleader princess.

"What'd I miss?"

"Come by the basement after school. I have to show you something."

Yeah, I can do that. I heard Dad make a man-date with Red to watch a Packers game at my place so whatever stupid thing Eric wants to show me, the neighborhood hard-ass will be occupied.

"If it jumps out, my first reaction is to punch. Don't say I didn't warn you, Eric."

"And while you do that, I'll see if Donna wants to go to the salon. Hey, you think they have nail clippers big enough for her giant Sasquatch feet?"

And just like that, my moment of entering the _Twilight Zone_ is over. What the actual fuck just happened?

Loftily, I swing the tail of a floral scarf threaded in denim loops after abandoning my bike to scale Red's driveway. I decent the cement stairwell.

"Gabby? Holy hell you got hot."

Gabby? Midge and Bob own the rights to that nickname and this girl is neither the former nor the latter.

Blinking to a honey blonde cleaning her lower lip with a polished thumb, cheeks flushed like she just finished sucking face, I give her a neutral look neither conveying interest or dismissal.

"It's Laurie."

Laurie? _Oh_. Yeah, I see it now.

"Hey, Lore. How've you been?"

"Graduated. Parties. Boys. Y'know, the usual."

"Actually I don't, but cool story. Excuse me."

At the top of the stairs, she snorts, "Seriously? All those clubs in the big apple and you've never snuck in?"

A couple times, but only because Nicky's two years older than me and he managed to get both of us fake IDs from a friend. It was fun, but mainly because I was so hyped to go out with him…damn that was a long time ago.

I shrug unceremoniously in response to the Foreman daughter who's looking like the cat who caught the canary at my half-truth.

"So I'm hitting this bar in Kenosha tonight if you want to go. I could use a good wing woman."

"Raincheck."

"Kay, but you're missing out on a great scene. And if you ever want a good lay, I got a little black book full of gold stars. Just give me a call, girl."

I'm highly doubtful I'll need Laurie's second rate one-nighters, but thanks for thinking of me? I think.

"Sure thing."

Blouse tied high under her bust and flat stomach bare, the blonde saunters out of view in wedged heels.

Sex isn't the answer to everything, man. Love? Hell yeah.

Smacked in the face by a wall of pungent smoke, I wave the cloud aside while scooting past Fez in the lawn chair to collapse between Hyde in his chair and Eric on the sofa. "Eric, I don't know whether to slap you for not telling me sooner or to congratulate you. You're not as lame as I thought." I bump shoulders with him appreciatively.

Blue eyes a bit glassy and smile uneven, my cousin's crush exhales a gust of herbs. His voice is a little emotional, "Thank you. I wasn't sure about you moving here. I kinda thought you were bitchy at first, but you're so _awesome_, Brie."

He's so fucking toasted.

"Yeah, I thought you were a bitch too and I'm not the girl you should be saying that too." Teetering at Hyde eating peanut butter by the spoonful and passing it to Eric who uses his index finger to scope inside the jar's walls, I accept the blunt from Fez across me and expertly puff two drags. Locking onto Hyde and mentally assessing him for visible dislocation through the smog, I'm tempted to take off those damn aviators but root myself in place on the pancaked cushion. My voice lowers as I hold in the high and a thick stream of ghostly white exhales as I ask, "You all right, man?"

Man, someone knows how to roll a tight blunt. For all I know, Eric's delicate fingers are good at something useful. Yay.

Hyde doesn't bother the two seconds it takes to look at me. He grunts, "Fine, man."

What crawled up his ass?

"You." Fez scoops a finger full of peanut butter.

A weightlessness envelops my stomach and hazes my consciousness, bringing my guard down like a high typically does. "Oh, I said that ah' loud?"

"Sure did. So what're you thoughts on Hyde?" Eric sucks a hit, holds it impressively long, and then stretches it to me.

Burning the reefer to the halfway point – _inhale, inhale, hold, exhale, inhale escapees, then fully exhale_ – I wipe a hand over my melty-feely face and aimlessly hold it outward for someone to pluck.

Someone does.

Expelling a couple "_o"_ clouds from plump lips when my final drag appears, I giggle at the imagery of his curly hair. "Y'know who's sexy as hell? Elvis. Tall, dark, and handsome. The guy didn't give a flyin' fuck 'bout what people thought of his riffs and it made him the king of rock n' roll. Mmm…those sideburns were his crown too. I dunno y'guys, but if Elvis had a love child with the rebellious James Dean, I'm sure his name would be..."

What's his name?

"Who're we talkin' 'bout?"

"Why does she sound like that?" Fez's muddled voice chuckles.

"Gentlemen, proof you can take the girl out of New York but you can't take New York out of the girl." Eric pats my shoulder, seeing that I'm holding my face and totally spacing. He murmurs, "It'll pass, just relax."

"Brooklyn. Dad and 'ah lived in Manhattan for a bit but then 'ah met Nicky in junior high and he's from Brooklyn and Brooklyn's a lot cheaper and surprisin'ly pretty close-knit so we moved to Brooklyn and man, I miss Brooklyn."

"Brie, it seems that these fumes make you a bit honest. Wouldn't you say, my dear?"

"I dunno, man. Eric, y'got any snacks down here? 'Ah could eat a horse."

He shoves saliva covered peanut butter cream in my direction but lowers the jar confusedly when I gently angle his chin toward me and suck in the exhale of his final drag. Looking a bit dumbfounded from our mouths being barely apart if only for a second, he blinks wildly with a flush to his cheeks. "There's some Popsicles in the freezer."

His breath tastes like peanut butter.

Leaping the sofa's back, I readjust the sleeve of a pale peasant top that's slumped down my arm and retrieve a cherry pop. I dial up "_Whole Lotta Love_" before hiking back in position with the guys. "What do y'call this batch?"

"Radical Dream."

I turn to the voice on my right and furrow owlishly at Hyde's cloudy aviators. "That's some fuckin' dream, man."

For a second, I think he smirks but I don't exactly trust myself to remember things true to truth on this stuff so whatever. Everythin's all smoggy to know for sure anyways.

"How was your play date with Jackie?" Eric chuckles to himself about nothing or something.

Kicking up red boots with menacing gold dragons threaded in leather on the pinwheel table, I explain, "She paid for everythin'. Man, it's insane how far people'll go to save their image. Hell, people should be more concerned with their character than reputation. But is the Man gonna let us do that? Nope, because they're brainwashin' bullyin' bastards seekin' control." Stewing for a moment to suck and rotate the cold Popsicle around my tongue, I murmur, "Government pigs."

"Fellatio…" A mushy accent whispers on my left.

"You gotta guy, Brie?"

Not since Nicky.

"Nada. Hey, so I ran inta' Lore outside. She invited me to go bar hoppin' which shouldn't be too hard." Jutting a nude Popsicle stick from the corner of my mouth and loudly sucking, I glance to the trio grinning oddly for reasons beyond me and flash a fake ID from my wallet.

"Lore? Oh! That's right! Gabby and Lore! How sweet!"

"_Gabby_," I scoff. "'Ah always hated that name. Makes me sound like all 'ah do is flap my jaw _gabbing_ on about unicorn's glittery shit and fairy tears or somethin'."

"So, you turn into Jackie?"

I don't know why said that but please, someone shoot me if that happens!

"'Ah swear to the circle if any of you ever call me that or say I'm like that tart, you can bet your ass I'll shove my foot up it. Got it?"

In unison, three traces of various agreements circulate through clouds of smoke.

"Rad."

After what feels like twenty minutes of Hyde going on about a water-running car the government's keeping from us, he mellows from his tirade brought out by a passion induced high and looks at my figure slumped comfortably on the couch with my legs splayed across Eric's lap. "For a daughter of the government, I didn't think you'd be so mischievous."

I snort, "Being promiscuous got nothin' to do with the sign ya' born under. Just because RP's a badge doesn't mean I agree with what he represents." Discarding the wooden stick and picturing Nikcy's jet black hair in messy trundles after a session of ecstasy, I dissolve into the sofa and rush a ringed hand in pale strands, still savoring his phantom taste on my tongue. Heat rumbling down south at the memory of such solidarity roaming within me and the heat radiating masculinity surrounding me, I realize my legs are so tightly pressed together, softly rocking to encourage the sensuality my buzz yearns for that I erratically remove my legs from the lap of a dozing Eric and deny the remains of a blunt Fez offers. Grabbing my scarf I doubled as a belt that I don't quite remember removing to use for something or another is swiped and hung around my neck before I bolt out the door.

The hell was that?! I practically got off. C'mon, Brie, be cool.

"Brie? You ok?"

I proceed to straddle my bike, unable to bring myself to look him in the eye, and grip oval handles. "'Ah have a, um, thin' – thing. I'll see you later, Eric."

_"Bank job in the city_

_Robin Hood and William Ted and Ivanhoe and Lancelot, they don't envy me_

_Sitting till the sun goes down, in dreams the world keeps going round and round_

_And I can't get it out of my head - no I can't get it out of my head_

_Now my old world is gone for dead 'cos I can't get it out of my head - no, no-" _

Restarting the ELO record, I flatten on a cozy mattress, blinking contently at the carnal ambiance colorless Christmas lights emanate.

Radical Dream isn't an exaggeration, it's definitely rad. Only one thing sucks about it: I totally spaced out and I hope I didn't let the drug lower my defenses too much. I know I smoked. Duh. I ate a damn good Popsicle. I pulled out my wallet to...? Yeah, the ID. Why did I bust that out? Eric want me make a beer run? Did we even drink beer? I'm still a bit spacey but no, this isn't a sloppy drunk burn in my stomach. This is a tingly feeling like you're feet aren't even touching the ground.

Propping up on my elbows, I glint to the half a dozen plants of all different sizes hanging from the ceiling or resting on decorative shelves.

I should water those babies, but I'll be bored after. This junk wares off too fast. I don't know what's floating through their heads as an explanation for my runaway act but I didn't mean to ditch them. I remembered Nicky's warm body atop mine and his darling mouth...I panicked in the basement and bolted. I'm not the best at talking about my feelings but at least with Nicky, he could read me like a book. There was no need for words between us, just contact. Way to go, Brie, you totally screwed yourself on the best thing in your life.

Phone ringing, I crawl across the mattress and press a cherry blossom patterned receiver to my skull. "Yeah?"

"_Brie?_"

Eric. What's he calling me at this house for?

"Hey."

"_Hi. You left really abrupt earlier. You're ok, right? The weed didn't bother you did it?_"

"Nah, I'm fine. I've had better but it wasn't bad. There's this guy in New York who owns a medicinal and wellness shop. I bet I can score a quart of his finest batch, if you're interested."

His voice perks in surprise, "_You can send that through the mail?_"

"You can do anything if you're not caught."

"_Ok. So you're ok? You sound better. Less Brooklyn, more Gabriella_."

Pushing a _Polaroid_ of a shirtless Nicky in bed kissing my temple the morning after sharing our first night together, my throat swells involuntarily at the sight of his arms around me. "Never better."

Why does it hurt so much? Can't he just go away?

"_Gabriella –_"

"Is a quart going to be enough?"

"...should be. I'll see you at school. You're going to be at school tomorrow, right?"

"Sure, man. Till then." Cutting the music, blowing out the incense on the desk, and discarding my shirt, I level the window to crack and turn for bed when a shadow appears on my floor and grows onto my bedroom door.

The hell?

Making out the distinct shape of telltale curls, I take a subtle step back at the sight of him leaning against the spine of Red's garage.

Oh. What's he doing checking me out in at nightfall? What? Does he want to be friends all the sudden? Yeah, he knows about all the trouble I can get into without taking the fall. I don't care what anyone says, people don't like to be used.

Shutting the curtains, confident he won't be able to see anything but my silhouette as I strip, the lights switch off and I climb beneath layers of comforters.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****: Yaaassss! It's a long 1, I know, but I love writing Brie. Face Claims are posted below. CC during R&R is always encouraged! Thanks! **

**GENTLEMEN****:**

**Brad Pitt ('90s style) - Kent Trinke **


	3. Like a Rolling Stone

3

~ Like a Rolling Stone ~

Thank God it's Friday. Thank God school's over. That Kent guy kept trying to crowd me in the hall or catch me switching out notebooks between classes. I slipped passed him because I'm skilled like that, but he's been staring at me. I haven't made a big deal about Kent because it's stupid and I can take care of my own issues. I have to admit though, the guy's got balls and approached me today at lunch. I solved it by giving my favorite lunch lady, Bambi, a look and she told him to grub or go. She's cool. I guess Hyde woke up early enough to catch a bus because he was in Biology and showed up to lunch. Then Jackie invited me to go swimming at her place. Donna said it's the fanciest three story house in Point Place, that it has a mile long driveway. I told her I'd think about it mainly because I don't want to hear her call me fat or something even though I weigh no more than a buck-twenty.

Sketching random lines in a fresh sketchbook from my bookcase, I aimlessly color the page in wild strands, feathery motions and strokes.

Yeah, coloring's childish but I don't care. It keeps my mind occupied and keeps my hands busy. Fight me about it. I'd read but I can only look at the same _Rolling Stones_ and _Time_ mag so many times. Does this town have a library? It'd be cool to check out _Misery_. Man, I dig _Stephen King_. He's a freak and I lo –

"Hey, man."

– ve it. Whoa. Ok, he's the last person I ever expected to see on my doorstep.

"Hey." Gathering the mess of colored pencils and banding them together, I settle on the left side of the hammock to make room for him.

Instead of taking the gesture, Hyde leans on the stone banister winding the front porch. "Foreman tells me you have a hook up who can get you some good stuff. What kinda stuff we talking about?"

I quit fiddling with the silver chain winding my ankle and drop naked legs from a bloused chest. "You want me to show you?"

"You have some? And you didn't share? Didn't your daddy tell you sharing is caring?"

Relishing his irritation but slightly puzzled by the playful nature of the jab, I grab my things and syphon up the stairway in the living room all the way down the hall to the last door. "I have some left over pizza downstairs if you want something."

"No thanks, man. RP got any beer stashed away?"

In answer, I face him before parting my door. "He hasn't touched a beer in years." Cramming the sketchbook in a bookcase neighboring my door, I exchange it for a leather journal bound by a combination lock and pass Hyde the _Polaroid_ of my favorite plant.

"It's big. What'd you call this strain?"

"Cosmic Vision. Now that's some good stuff." Plucking the photo and homing everything in their place, moccasins carry me to straddle my window sill. "Is that all you came for or is there something else?"

Funny enough, Hyde sits in the crotchet chair Jackie favors too; tinted shades arrowing to the band posters, dreamcatchers, and the giant neon eye casting colored light on four walls. "You dig _Floyd_ and _Zeppelin_?"

Natural light illuminating the darkness of my spacious room through tall glass, I hear Dad's cruiser pull into the driveway. "And _Kiss_, _Beatles_, _Bob_ _Seger_ and _Dylan_, _The Stones_, _Elton John_, _Judas Priest_, _Bowie_, _Black Sabbath_, _Alice Cooper_. Only the legends."

Booted feet kick up on the ottoman as he reclines comfortably. "I never seen a chick hop out a circle that fast. You cool?"

Eric must've told him that he called.

"Totally. You should tell Eric to stop fussing, it's off-putting."

"He's just looking out for you. You're kinda the sister he never had."

I finally shift his direction skeptically, "He has a sister."

"Yeah, but you're not a slut. Wait, are you?"

I scoff, "Please."

This has to be the first and longest conversation we've ever had. Freaky that it's in my fortress, on my land and terms, but I guess that means something. But _what_?

"Dry spell, huh?"

What is he getting at?

Scanning the curls, shielded eyes, small coy smirk saying a lot but not enough, a _Grateful_ _Dead_ t-shirt I wouldn't mind adding to my wardrobe and noticing the underlying tension in his broad shoulders and clinched abdomen, I blink at his boots and see the unwillingness in his stature to move.

Whatever he came to me for must be big if he's willing to make himself uncomfortable and put himself in enemy lines, uncharted territory. Maybe he's testing the water? If so, I have Eric to chew out for putting me in this awkwardness.

"I don't even know your name."

"Maybe if you're lucky, you'll scream it."

Oh so this is about sex. Why am I not surprised? And wait, is he flirting? It's not like I wouldn't nail him, Hyde's a fox and he's got this vibe about him that gravitates girls like me to guys like him. It's annoying and stereotypical. But ultimately, I don't think I can do that to Donna or Eric. It'd be awkward as hell.

"I don't think I can do that to Eric or Donna, and he's your best friend."

"So?"

"So I don't want to mess with the harmony. And what Eric said about me being bitchy, well I am. Not heartless-Jackie-bitchy, but nonetheless a bitch. How else am I going to protect myself?" Looking to my pillow where I holster the infamous photo my first love, I reach beneath the material and stare at it indecisively for a second or two, my back smartly facing Hyde.

I do, I have to protect myself and this connection that's obsolete and irrelevant with Nicky has to go if I'm going to move forward, at least a little. Nicky's the first step since I doubt he'll take my call or letters anyway and I seriously doubt I'm going near the east coast anytime soon. The last thing I need to leave the state only to come back and find out Chelsea convinced RP to elope. Absolutely not.

I surge to the drawer of my nightstand and tear apart the image of us then take a lighter to singe the memory in a ceramic bowl.

"You using a voodoo curse on Kelso because if you are, that'd be a wicked burn."

"No but if I did, it'd make Red's foot a magnet to his ass."

"I like the way you think." He mirrors my smile.

He has a handsome smile. Reminds me of _James Dean_. ... Would it totally be wrong to use him to get these teenage hormones out of my system? No, no, I have to run it by Eric first. Or at least Donna.

"You need to go." I grab his arm and lead him to the door.

"Why? Gotta attend a hippie meeting?"

I glare. "No. My dad's home and he'll be on my case if he catches you in here. I'll distract him, just go out the back door by the kitchen." Brown eyes spark as I challenge, "It's not like you don't know what you're doing."

Any sign of amusement swathing Hyde vanishes. A look of offense and frustration sharpens the lines of his stony face.

"Yeah, I saw you. If you wanted to hang you just had to ask, man! And let's get one thing straight," My chest nearly flushes his. "You'd be the lucky one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have shit to d –"

"I wasn't peeping. I was heading back to Foreman's for a ride home after studying with Donna. You were peeling your clothes off, Tease! And yeah, I know you saw me too because you looked right and me and kept peeling your clothes off!"

Arms knit, I roll my eyes. "You didn't see anything I didn't want you to see so chill, Shirley Temple."

"Y'may not act like a Pinciotti but you are one through and through."

Did he insult me? And if he did, he just ragged on Donna too. What an ass.

"Excuse me?" Backing away from the dope head to bask in shock, fire licks my nerves. "I know you didn't just shit on Donna."

The tightness in his jaw ices upon realizing what he's just done. "Whatever. Have fun bitching at someone else, Pinciotti."

What a tool.

Leaning on my sill and hoping he trips over the yard fence, I growl a slew of curses until Dad knocks urgently on the door, asking who the hell was in my room.

Dad ducked out my room after I told him that Hyde's a friend from school I invited over to study, that we have biology together. It's not a lie, we do have second period together.

Blaring _Joni Mitchell_ and filling out a health survey for gym, I change into a camisole and shorts just when a figure appears in the corner of my eye.

WHAT THE FUCK!?

"FEZ?! What the hell?!" I beat him with a pillow until he's cowering on the floor begging me to stop. "The fuck are you doing in my room?! No, how the hell did you get in my house?"

"The back door was unlocked and I – I wanted to surprise you but I didn't want Hyde to punch me s-so I hid in your closet." Heart in his throat and swallowing anxiously, he tries to rebound, "You have lovely taste by the way, Jackie did a good job."

_Surprise_ me?

I discard the pillow. "You surprised me all right. Fuck. Didn't you just hear what I said to Hyde? If you want to hang, _ask_."

"I was afraid you would say no."

"We're friends, man. It's just hanging. And I swear to whatever higher power runs the world, if I find you in my room again, you'll regret it. Cool?"

He laughs nervously then nods briskly when I don't waver. "Yeah, yeah, never again."

"So what do you want?"

"..."

"Fez, just spit it out. I need to get some sleep, man."

Hesitancy etching his face, the foreigner admits "_Hyde is in love with you_" then sprints out my room, probably assuming I'm going to pummel him with a pillow.

Through my window I watch a silhouette wearing too tight of pants leap Uncle Bob's fence, misjudge the jump, and kiss the ground. I slap a hand to my mouth to stifle bubbles of laughter.

So he does want to screw. Well, he's going to have to work harder than that if he's "in love with me". I call bullshit but then again, I'm not in his head, which is why I'm not taking it for face value until he fesses up. And I want an apology; I don't care that he called me a bitch, it's true and I don't exactly care enough about our relationship for it to hurt. But he shit on Donna and that's fucked up. Better not read too much into right now. Nap time, Brie.

I pick up a lolling head and smoothing a spiderweb of hair from my field of sight. Something delicious stirs my senses to flatten on my back and stare at twinkling lights opposed to burying myself in the plethora of feathery pillows.

Chamomile, vanilla, and honey. Mmm. Once in a blue moon that smells of bad news, Dad will wake me up by steeping my room with the musk of tea.

I snap open heavy lids, glint around and gasp at Donna's litheness sitting oddly at the foot of my mattress.

For some reason, she isn't looking me in the eye and pointedly stares at an _AC/DC_ poster as I sit up to face her.

Ugh. What'd I do now?

"Um…Brie, look down."

What? Oh shit.

Obeying, I fix the camisole to conceal a free boob and tighten my straps sheepishly. "I'm a wild sleeper."

"For what it's worth, you got a nice set." She passes me a scaling mug.

"It's a Pinciotti thing. What time is it?" I sip and swallow.

"Four-thirty. RP said you're a heavy sleeper, so he made you some tea before he left for the night shift."

He's doing night patrol? On weekends? I bet he expects me to hang at Red and Kitty's meaning he put Hard-Ass Red in charge of me. So not cool.

"Yeah, he's nicer than me like that. Thoughtful and not an ass."

"You're not an ass." A coy look curves her rosy lips. "So what'd you do to Hyde?"

"I knew he'd be stupid and tell everyone I'm a bitch. Go figure."

"What're you talking about? He didn't call you a bitch."

I murmur into the rim of my herbs, "Maybe not in front you guys."

Donna crosses denim legs, thoughtfulness cresting her soft features. "Well, I don't think bitchy is the fight term for you. You're...closed off and mysterious."

Mysterious?

Now it's my turn to laugh.

"The guys have been making up and fantasizing all these different scenarios of you in the big apple. It's unrealistic by all means, but pretty entertaining. And do you really have an accent when you're stoned?"

"A bit. I was born and raised there so of course I'd have an accent. You probably can't hear it now because Dad never picked it up like I did since he grew up here and we traveled different states in the summertime. Accents fade and make encores; they're weird like that." I chug a gulp of hot liquid. Knowing half of them, if not all of the fantasies include me in the nude, I ignore the information. "How's Fez?"

"He's got a black eye and he won't tell anyone how he – _Gabriella!_" The cerulean of her irises consume her eyes. "Did you punch Fez?!"

Most of the drink gone, I tie on a silk robe detailed with ferocious tigers enveloped in daisies and rub the sleepiness out of my eyes. "I should've since I found the Peeping Tom sneaking out of my closet. I beat him with a pillow."

Donna laughs ridiculously for a solid two minutes, clutching her stomach. "Gabriella Pinciotti, ladies and gentlemen! I've been trying to catch him too but he's a quick little bastard."

"It's the least I could do." I ground out, "I'm positive he saw me change."

"Perv. No seriously, what'd you do to Hyde?"

What's she talking about?

"What do you mean? I hardly talk to the guy."

"Well last night, Eric told us about the hookup you have in New York and Hyde seemed interested. Did he talk to you about it?"

"Among other things." Recognizing her body language expectant of more information, I continue loftily, "He was cool at first, but then he said something stupid and it turned me off so I kicked him out."

"Like what?"

It's rude and shitty what he said and I don't want to create drama, but she has a right to know since it's about her. Fuck, I hate this drama starting shit.

"He said, 'I may not act like a Pinciotti but I am one through and through'." I mimic his brooding angst voice as close as I can, finger quotes included. "It's not what he said, it's how he said it. I mean, if you, him and Eric are so tight, why'd he shit on you and me like that?"

Disbelief cloaks her tone, "I don't think he meant it to be a jerk. Hyde's well...Hyde. He doesn't filter his feelings very well. Gosh, Brie, you really have to be under his skin to get him in a tizzy. He keeps brooding at the TV and hasn't talked to anyone all last night or this morning, not even to Eric! What did you do?" The redhead clad in a t-shirt, jeans, and a bandana covering her reddish-brown locks to combat the wind eyes me carefully.

Nothing. We talked about the weed, music, screwing, and – _oh_.

"I think he asked me if I have a guy in the circle yesterday. I don't. Today I declined his 'offer'."

"You turned down Hyde?" Donna's eyes widen, stunned that he'd even propose the invitation.

Heading to my dresser vanity against the same wall as my angled bed, I twist organically pin-straight hair up in a banana clip. "You sound surprised, Donna."

"It's just, you're a lot alike. The distrust of the government, your taste in music, how you dress, sometimes even the way you talk. You both like beer and pot and you lack basic trust in people."

I don't think we're _that_ similar and thanks for selling out my individuality, Donna.

I reply lazily, "Growing up in the city when you're Dad's a decent cop surrounded by assholes will force you to grow up fast. And I didn't live in the 'big apple' wealthy part of Manhattan. RP only made a third of what an apartment cost a month in the city, but yeah, the Brooklyn ghetto was New York."

Her neck cranes around my room processing and intricate as she skims my tastes. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want too."

Resting my back on the dresser counter and occupying a leopard print stool, I shrug universally.

"Where's your mom? Obviously Chelsea isn't your mother, you don't look alike at all. I mean, beside the point that you two aren't ever in the same room for five minutes and when you do, it's all glares and snarky commentary."

I shrug again, this time blanking my expression to be unreadable.

The sadness of her realization and overall pity reveals itself in her thin brows drawing together. Fingers fidgeting uncomfortably, her voice bare audits, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

This is so fucking rad! I can't wait to tell the gang!

Standing outside the Hub, denim backpack on and bike parked against brick exterior, I glint through the glass to see everyone but Fez surrounding a dinky basket of fries sitting at an even dinkier table. Entering and paying for a cup of hot water from the guy in the window of the concession stand, I drag a seat from an empty table to join them and rummage through a zipper in my backpack until I discover a metal tea box. Dunking the bag, I fight the excitement stirring my stomach, cuing the urge to smirk so I bite my lip instead.

If I look at them, especially Donna, I'll smile and I can't be weak like tha –

"Why hello, Brie. 'What's up, Eric?' Oh nothing much, just wondering where you were at lunch. Donna, would you happen to know anything about Ms. Skippity Do-Da's lunching whereabouts?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to contain the giddiness. A plastic fork stirs the bag before I pop a fry in the feeding hole.

"Gabriella, stop smiling." Kelso cozies up to Jackie for protection. "I'll have nightmares of _The Shining_ again."

"Here's Brie!" Hyde adds to the jab, making it much worse.

I send him a terse glare across the table.

"I believe she was with a _boy_." Donna taps her chin playfully, taking a swig of Coke.

"A boy! OH BOY! Brie, our sweet little rebel Gabriella, you're growing up!"

Everyone chuckles or smiles.

I kick Eric's shin below the table, satisfied to see him wince and glare back.

Wimp.

"I let Trinkie have a minute to get whatever he wants of his chest. One thing turned into another _and_," Pulling the tickets out of a zipper pocket, I fan myself cheekily. "Scored two tickets to the _Rolling Stones _in Chicago, baby!"

Kelso hops to his feet, pumping his fist skyward. "ALL RIGHT!"

I swear Hyde's shoulders tense.

"What makes you think you're goin'?"

Kelso blunts to the burn out, "Cuz she's gotta pick me. I'd look beautiful on her arm, not that you're not smokin' already, Gabriella." He winks at me.

I roll my eyes dejectedly.

Jackie swats Kelso for adding that last bit.

Hyde nods negatively, ashamed of his shallow friend.

"Brie, have I ever told you how much I'm so glad you're here? That I love you? Because I am," The _Star Wars_ nerd fits a hand over his heart, a loving look morphing pubescent features. "And I do."

"Don't be a kiss-ass, Eric. She won't play favorites, will you? We're blood, remember that." Donna draws her arms together across her chest.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I don't have a favorite." I openly grin and sip my drink. "And what makes this deal sweeter? I didn't even have to touch the guy."

"Then why'd he give you free tickets? They're probably fake."

Raising thin brows in consideration, I nod negative at Hyde. "I don't think so, man. All I did was agree to go with him to some lame homecoming dance that's in like two months." I grimace at the idea of painful heels, a puffy dress, my hair pulled up in an absurd fashion, and painted in ridiculous amounts of makeup.

I hate wearing makeup. Great skin care, mascara, clean brows, and tinted balm are a girl's best friend.

Jackie claps and flails polished hands excitedly. "Oh my god! We can curl each other's hair!"

I massage my eardrum at the shrill exerting her. "Jackie, don't take this the wrong way," Blinking to her dead on, my voice warns darkly, "But if you keep doing that, I'll replace your wardrobe with Donna's."

"Hey!" Donna interjects.

Eric holds the redhead back, motioning her to enjoy the show.

"You wouldn't!" Jackie's eyes burn angrily yet a sheen of worry glazes her, proving so when she latches to Kelso's arm which happens to be the same one she smacked a minute ago.

"Yeah, because telling you I'd do something and then not doing it makes total sense."

I hear Eric chime proudly at my sarcasm, "Burn, Burkhart."

Everyone but Jackie bobs in agreement.

"We're so going dress shopping because of that. I just hope they have 'bitchy and emotionally unavailable' in stock. Donna, what color do you think that'd come in?"

"Purple?" Kelso genuinely wonders, then snaps back and eyes the dueling girls. "Oh, and sweet burn, Jackie."

Swinging to Donna with a tight jaw, I blink off her apologizing expression and serve to Hyde's chest oddly exhale a stressed sigh.

He sits in his chair with one leg crossed over the other's knee, unlike me straddling my seat, and stacks muscular arms across his chest, tinted lenses void.

They talked shit about me. What kind of friends do that? What kind of warped group of people does Donna hang with? Man, and I though the crowd I was with in New York was disloyal.

Deadpanning, I nod. "Cool. So that leaves Kelso since he's so much of a dumbass it's endearing or Fez because he's probably never heard of a concert. Or no, maybe I'll go with Kent. Yeah, he might be an arrogant jock but at least the guy's consistent, meaning he's loyal and makes an effort. It's _so_ rad talking to my friends."

I don't need this bullshit.

Grabbing my pack, hammering my tea, and stalking out, I lean on textured brick. A cigarette lights and I allow the nicotine to steel brash nerves.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Making sure everything's in my pack and killing the cig after a puff or two, I straddle my bike and zip a cropped leather jacket; white knuckles grip curved handles for takeoff.

**_Ding, ding_**.

The Hub's bell. I really don't want to talk.

"Hey, man. You goin' home?"

Ignoring the Curly Q and rummaging through a metal basket between the handles, I'm suddenly trapped in place on the sidewalk and unable to pedal due to Hyde's weight baring on steel turquoise bars. "I was willing to be nice for Donna but it's too hard, man. We're never going to be cool so let's quit playing ourselves, we're too much alike. So go on, just admit that you can't stand me so I can go home."

"Why're you crying?"

Oh. Looks like I have feeling after all. Could've fooled me.

I thumb the tear aside. "I don't know. Here," The tickets fit snugly to his chest. "I don't want to go anymore. Take a slut, sell them. I don't care."

I can never tell what he's thinking because of those freaking aviators.

Frustrated with the fact I can't study his reaction, I slowly reach up and remove the glasses, proceeding to hook them on his collar.

He isn't looking at me, too busy staring at the cement like it's the most interesting thing in the world –

"Were you serious about goin' with Trinke?"

"Honestly?"

His jaw nods slightly, still looking down.

"I don't know. I hate government funded gatherings but...It'd give me an excuse to wear fishnets. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in something like that." The air thick with heat – or maybe it's just me – I glance down curiously to see what he's observing; I involuntarily widen caramel orbs to see and feel his hands overlap mine on the handles.

Holy shit. What do I do? What do I do? _What do I do? _

"I don't hate you."

Oh. Well, that's comforting. Not really.

"And for the record, I didn't mean to call you a bitch or a Pinciotti the way I said it. I get it, man. You're just looking after Donna and she's doing the same for you, which is why she threatened to kick my ass if I hurt you. So c'mon, don't cry."

Did he seriously do what I think he's saying he did? He got Donna's permission to ask me out? And yeah, there's no way Hyde would last against my cousin.

I scoff, "I can't believe I cried."

"You're secret's safe with me. Unless we fight, then I'll use it to burn you later."

"Thanks for the warning." Realizing my hand's roamed on his chest alongside the tickets, I tuck them in his front pocket and finally meet gray thunderous hues clouding silver with a rare earnestness. "Wow."

His eyes are gorgeous.

Dancing warm hues of my own over the dimple in his chin and the thick sideburns framing his prominent jaw, Old Spice's clean scent and fittingly, old cigarettes empower my senses.

"Wow yourself." After a solid minute of us just visually appreciating one another, he take a step back and disappointedly disperses his hands from mine. "Careful, Pinciotti."

"Sure thing, Hyde."

Thanks to some shortcuts Fez told me about, pedaling five miles home takes twenty minutes.

Gathering a couple textbooks from the bike's basket and readying a keyring from my pack, I head inside and twist open a cream soda from the fridge.

Dad's home but he'll be heading out in the evening for night shift. That blows because it's Monday, the worst day of the week. Fucking homework, man. It's not that I don't get any of it, because I do, it's that I don't want to waste my time with it.

Trudging upstairs to my room, I quicken my pace when weird-ass animal grunts and feminine moans vibrate from Dad's room.

That's just plain nasty.

To distract my lizard brain, I skim through homework in my fortress and push a hardcover to the floor when it doesn't appeal to my pallet. On my stomach splaying a quilted queen, I hope _'Bohemian Rhapsody'_ will pull me out of this funk as I sing along.

I'm not sure how to handle this Hyde thing. Yeah, he's a fox but I don't know if I even like him. Aesthetics aren't everything, sometimes I wish they were.

A loud, repetitive beeping shrill jolts me in place.

Great. I'm having Jackie PTSD.

When it doesn't stop and I'm relieved it isn't truly Jackie bursting into my room, I reach lazily for the chirping phone and carelessly hold it to my ear, propping an arm below my skull. "What's up?"

"_Gabriella? It's Kent Trinke_."

Alert and sitting up, I tone suspiciously, "How'd you get this number?"

"_There's a, uh, list of every students number and home address in the phonebook at school_."

I'm so burning that damn thing.

"Just so you know, I don't think I like you just because I agreed to that deal. I gave away the tickets."

A long pause happens on his side.

For a minute, I would think he hangs up if not for a dial tone.

"_They're yours to do with what you want. And you may not like me now, but you will_."

I snort, "Is that the only reason why you called? To tell me how much I'll 'like' you?"

Narcissistic prick.

"_No. I was going to ask if you wanted to see a movie tonight. Have seen Taxi Driver yet?_"

I glimpse to the movie poster of a shirtless Robert De Niro aiming a gun above my desk. "Only a dozen times."

He's nice to look at too.

"_What about that new Clint Eastwood movie?_"

"Saw it." My back flops comfortably in a sea of blankets.

"_Well,_ _I assume it's safe to say you like movies_."

"Yeah, the good ones."

Kent chuckles at that.

I negotiate, "How about when something interesting pops up, I'll give you a call?"

"_Sounds like a plan. You want my number?_"

How else am I supposed to get a hold of you, man? Burst into song and expect you to finish the chorus by swinging through my window wearing a figure-flattering outfit? That's Jackie's bullshit _Mickey Mouse_ fantasy, not mine.

"Sure." After hanging up, I immediately spin the dial for Donna. Canting up when Dad's familiar deep octave asks to enter, I home the receiver and knot my legs. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey, buttercup. I'm just letting you know that the captain at the station put me on the nightshift until further notice since the shmuck I've been covering for is transferring to the station in Kenosha." He rolls brown eyes identical to mine. "But I think that's good because I'll have time to drop you off at school in the morning and I can take care of some stuff around the house. Chelsea will be happy, I can finally treat her to that Italian restaurant in town." His content happiness warming to my heart, Dad knits his arms together as he leans on my doorjamb.

Unfortunately, he sees me physically gag at the mention of her name in the corner of his eye.

He channels my deadpan perfectly, leaning on the doorjamb. "She's not that bad, Brie."

Yeah, not that bad at wrapping her legs around some other guy and taking a pounding like a champ.

"Let's just agree to disagree."

"Right...I'm trying that hibachi place for dinner your Uncle suggested." He extends a colorful menu.

I rest the plastic receiver on my neck to skim over the oriental cuisine, keenly aware of his studying eyes as he hovers subtly around my room.

"Everything ok at school? You've been spending a lot of time at Red's."

I skip to the spicy section and decide a veggie low mien with beef and an eggroll sounds fantastic as I glint upward. "If you're implying that I like them, then I guess they're ok. Red hasn't called me a dumbass yet, so that's something. Right?"

RP, my father, smiles faintly and leans his burly frame on the edge of my Cherrywood desk littered with textbooks, notebooks, and a particular journal full of artwork. "You're not fighting with anyone?"

"Don't jinx it." I smile back, conditioned his cop-like parenting techniques.

"Who're you calling?" He further interrogates, unrelenting gaze flashing to the phone sitting on my bed opposed to its regular spot on my nightstand.

"Donna. I'm going to see if she's doing anything later."

"I always liked her. She's got her head on straight."

Yeah, probably the most goody two shoes of us all besides Eric. It make senses why they dig each other, they're so similar.

"But that foreign kid?" Dad sours. "He stinks. Keep him out of my house."

"I'll tell him you have guns. That usually works."

"Sure does." He grins. "All right, I'll get out of your hair." Dad pecks my crown and dwindles in the doorway. His voice turns stern, "Just so you know, if I bust you, I'll have to lock you up overnight. Do we understand each other, Gabriella?"

"Yeah, RP."

Ha! Yeah right.

Satisfied, he confirms our conversation with a single firm nod and dwindles in the hallway. "Good. I'll call in your order, be back in a half-hour."

The next day is a Saturday.

I head to Donna's like I promised. Only instead of knocking on her backdoor, I meander past the green hedge to find Hyde, Kelso, Fez, and Eric shooting hoops.

Donna's sitting at the breakfast bar within the Foreman kitchen sipping from a mug, talking to Kitty about something or another as Jackie pouts in a lawn chair by the sliding glass door, sulking and watching the boys.

I don't care why she's upset, serves her spoiled ass right. The princess of Point Place gets whatever she wants on her daddy's dime. Please. At one point I had to shoplift half my wardrobe because they cut Dad's hours. Hell, _he_ taught me how to steal inconspicuously. It was the only option we had and he wasn't going to send me half-clothed to school. I mean, he didn't have to make me go at all but he didn't want me to flunk out. Shoplifting was a last resort.

"Think fast!"

Catching Kelso's toss, I whip the basketball back at him and pocket jewel-banded hands in denim.

"Aw you caught it! I was hoping to hit you in the face to see if your head spins around." Kelso dribbles the ball. "Next time, don't be so on edge that way your head can spin easier."

Eric grins and steals the ball, dribbles, and shoots. "Have some respect, Kelso. She's prettier than the exorcist."

Ignoring their commentary, I squat on the Vista Cruiser's hood to unintentionally find myself watching the way Hyde's body move in action.

He's a different kind of cute than Kent. Sure, Kent's a blonde and like Kelso, tall and chiseled as hell minus the stupid, but he's also a jock. A linebacker I think, whatever that is. Dad would know; Dad would prefer him over Hyde. Every girl in school knows of Kent's existence and gawks when he walks by in that godawful cheesy letter jacket. Just because he wears a piece of fabric with a letter, the guy thinks he's something special. Society is ridiculous.

Shifting glances back and forth between Donna who's snacking on a cookie Kitty offers from a stacked plate and Eric yanking on his collar to circulate air on his sweaty skin, I ask aloofly, "Hey, Eric, what do you like about Donna?"

"What?" His nimble torso shifts to the garage, bewildered look etching a baby face he has yet to grow out of.

Encouragingly, I cross my legs and tone, "C'mon, don't be a prude. Humor me."

"Well, she's female," He cocks wisely, bouncing the textured ball between his fingers. "She's probably the only girl in town that'll willingly go out with me. And then there's the fact that she lives next door. And also she's hot."

That's logical, but mediocrely shallow.

"And, well, she's been my best friend since we're kids. No offense, guys."

That's more like it.

"Not to mention you've had a hard-on for her since you were five."

Eric blushes profusely but remains falsely calm in his panic, frozen as if we won't see him if he doesn't move. Blandly, he dials to his childhood confidant, "Thanks for that, Hyde."

Hyde slaps the ball from Eric and banks it easily in the hoop. "No problem, Foreman."

"I too have had a hard-on." A smiley Fez announces.

I square a warning brow when I spot his wandering eye loiter my chest. "Hey, man. Remember what happened when I caught you in my closet?"

Hands on the hips of burgundy bell bottoms, he nods wryly and immediately stares downward at his shiny boots. "Yes. I remember." He mumbles sadly.

"So Gabriella, you taking Trinke to the Stones? Maybe rent a room and have some hot drunk concert sex?" A sneaky grin carves Kelso's chiseled features, reminding me of a panting dog in heat. "You like to be on top, dontcha? Yeah, you seem like an in control kinda gal."

Does he want to be punched?

Scowling and ready to launch a prepared burn his direction, I part thinly glossed li –

"No, no. Are you blind? Do you not see how calm and laid back she is? She likes to be serviced. Correct?"

I can't believe they're seriously talking about this right in front of me.

I roll my eyes. "Good luck finding out." Curious and confused, I tips towards the guy clad in an _Allman Brother's_ tee rapidly spinning the ball from one finger seamlessly to the next.

Why didn't Hyde tell them I gave them to him?

"Don't you think of anything other than sex?"

"Dogs. Sometimes fire. Maybe pop-rocks or dynamite. Anything that goes boom and sex goes _boom_."

Typical Kelso.

"Michael! It's almost time for the movie, I want to pick a good seat. Let's go!"

"Damn, Jackie!" He grumps at the tiny brunette standing halfway down the driveway, but her tapping foot calls him like a whistle does a dog and eventually submits. "All right. I'll see you guys later and Gabriella you gotta pick me – _urk_!"

Stealthily and lightning fast, Jackie somehow grips his collar despite their difference in height and drags poor Kelso to the street curb where her blue Beetle is parked.

Well, we definitely know who likes to be on top and serviced in that relationship.

"Now that Simon and Garfunkel are gone, who wants to do something illegal?"

Hyde instantly shoves the ball in Eric's abdomen hard enough to make him double over and his pale eyes to bugout. Leaning coolly on the hood, his unguarded sight openly devours the mischievous purse of my shiny plush lips. "What do you got in mind?"

"Oh, just breaking and entering. Maybe some vandalism," I remove a lighter from my pocket, light it, and blow it out after a couple counts of watching the flame dance. "Possibly watching something burn."

"Um, not to interrupt your anarchy criminal love-fest," Eric's abruptly in front of us with the basketball tucked under a skinny arm, clearly recovered and snacking on a cookie from the same plate Fez's holding that Kitty shared with Donna. "But as much as I'd love to join the heist, I can't. I have to get an A on that Econ paper or Red'll stick an A grade foot in my ass."

I smile. "I like Red."

"That's because you've never been on his bad side." Eric grunts, looking a tad envious.

"Yeah, because I'm not a dumbass and I leave him be." Keyring hanging on his index finger, I reach to swipe them but he wretches back quicker than I expected and nearly kiss the cement form losing my balance but luckily, a strong arm winds my waist, catching me, and smoothly retracts off me as if nothing happened. I glare avidly at Eric and am pleased to see him turn a little pallor, but he's still smiling from the victory of sleekness.

Holy shit he's warm and solid.

"Holy crap," Fez stops mid-chew on probably his fourth cookie and cycles a look of surprise and shock through the three of us. "She's gonna kick your ass. Run, Eric! Save yourself, Hyde!" And just like that, the sugar addict bolts down the driveway to god knows where with a plate of a dozen or so freshly baked goods clutched tight and ruining his too-tight shirt.

I don't think I'll ever get used to his weirdness.

"Way to go, dillhole. Now we're out of cookies and a Fez." Hyde reprimands.

To my eternal gratitude and elation, Eric's cheeky look disappears as Hyde slugs him in the arm, giving me the chance to snag the keys from his pant pocket and hop in the Vista Cruiser.

I chuck him the keys over the roof of the vehicle, trusting he can drive.

I'd drive if I knew how. There was no need for it in New York; buses and taxis are cheap, everywhere, and just a phone call or wave away.

Driver's window cranked down, I lean a bit onto the driver's seat – and thus invade Hyde's space – to duck and see Eric's sourpuss. I chime, "Don't worry, man. I'll give him back."

A frowning Eric waves a half-assed dismissal and banks a shot in the hoop.

Sliding down to the opposite end of the bench to cozy against the window, common Wisconsin suburbs lazily drifting by, I start prodding with the radio instead of dealing with the A Track simply out of laziness until something decent comes on.

_BOC _'Don't Fear the Reaper'. Rad tune.

"Cool song."

He's making conversation first? And here I assumed I'd have to break the ice.

"Yeah." Resting moccasins on the dash and freeing my hair of its Dutch braid, I tuck a pin on the collar of a scarlet V-neck. "Head to school."

"You wanna vandalize the gym? The library?" He cuts off a truck to excel the speed limit.

"Maybe. The reason I want to is because there's this phonebook that has everyone's phone number and home address in it."

"Seriously? I never gave them permission to stalk me." He slows at a red light, sounding personally offended but grateful for the information.

"Exactly. It's unsettling. I want to destroy it but I need help. A lookout." That curly head whirls so fast to me, I can't hide the smile itching my mouth.

"You're making me the _lookout_?"

I sigh, relenting, "Fine, you're promoted to 'getaway driver'."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should. No great crime can be done without a getaway driver." It isn't long before we pull into a spot on the edge of the lot in the back of the school close to where we usually sit at lunch. I hop out, gripping the bobby pin, and go to work on the steel utility door.

It takes me a hot sec to feel the spot I need to hit to unlatch the door.

It's really damn difficult to focus when Hyde's leaning on the cement exterior looking fine as hell with the moonlight waxing his pale face, accentuating the angles and definition of his jaw. It's so not fair, but I manage. Hey, his shades are off.

Peeling the door open, I dart inside first but stop mid-stride in the dark. "Any ideas, Mr. Getaway Driver?" Already feeling the warmth venting off his chest like a heatwave due to his closeness, I reach for my lighter but cease when a ray of light suddenly torches between our chests.

The light purposely aimed down and reflecting on scuffed checkered floors, Hyde's faintly alight features smile unhindered and unashamed in the black of our environment. Gray orbs scorch the heart-shape of my face and the gentleness of his touch on my chin burns as he gathers brown hues his direction. "It'd be totally cliché to kiss you..."

_Whoa_. Holy shit, his voice. Oh – _what do I do?_ Do I lean in or does he do that? Fucksake, Gabriella. STOP BEING SHY. Why're you acting like a virgin? You're not so just grow some balls and kiss the guy or draw a line in the sand for the harmony of the group. If I do this, I'm potentially breaking the trust of Donna or Eric, the two people of the gang I'd lay my life down for if the circumstances deemed it a necessity.

Instead of kissing him or replying, I glide a hand down a muscular arm to meet his hand; I squeeze back when he takes the initiative to laces our fingers.

Hyde lights our path as we venture long corridors, take shortcuts through familiar locker rows, bypass empty and locked classrooms, and dash through the cafeteria to reach the front of the high school were the main offices are kept. "Where'd you see the stalker book?"

Departing from him to visit the payphone at the front entrance, I reply, "I didn't actually. Kent made a surprise house call, said he got my number from that damn phonebook."

I hear him make an unimpressed slash annoyed grunt, something like a "hrmpf" and syphons ahead to the glass of an office where he tests the door handle for entry. "Find it?"

"Really?" I frown rhetorically, saying certainly, "If I did, we'd be burning this fucker right now." Joining him at the main office's mouth, I watch him shine the beam of light through hazy glass.

Hyde stops short, cursing the blinds.

It's a phonebook, it has to be in an office. Shit. I bet it's in the attendance office.

"Let me see that." Holding the long handle flashlight overhand and treading beyond the main office, further into the front hall, I stop at the attendance counter-window a few feet away. The blinds ajar, I maneuver the beam to alight a bleak room.

"That thought crossed my mind." He points a dimpled chin to the locked main office. "Problem is that's the only way in."

I retort, "Not the only way." With a universal gesture of "be my guest" or "go ahead", I let him have the first crack at the lock.

Unsurprisingly but no less impressively, Hyde takes less time than I did to hack the lock in ten seconds flat, obviously from plenty of practice; he holds the door for me as I enter, repeating my gesture cockily, and once over the desks' documents with the torch.

Light parked beam-up on a desk to dimly brighten the room, I pause my rummaging through the principal assistant's desk and grin broadly. "Hey."

He raises scanning eyes from a manila folder and smirks approvingly at the premium joints wrapped in plastic I rattle happily. "Nice job sniffing 'em out, Pinciotti. You'd make a decent search dog."

I'm going to take that as a compliment.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just call me a dog." Crinkling the bag in my cropped leather jacket, I position myself close enough to smell the clean musk of his clothes. My sight wanders the file he's so entranced with. "What's this?"

"Your file," He flips a page. "You're definitely not a dumbass."

Pleased, I breathe on the shell of his ear, "Told you."

"Gabriella Marian Pinciotti-Wrona. What a mouthful. Wrona. That your ma?"

So much for having a good time, damn it.

Snatching the file and stuffing it somewhere near the _P's_, I explain briefly, "I don't claim Wrona. I've asked PR to change it, he refuses so I'm screwed with a name I never wanted."

He shuts the filing cabinet with a soft click. "Make sense why y'don't act like Donna. Or Midge for that matter."

"Yeah." Unable to say anything else, I quip the flashlight and trail to the cubical known as the attendance office. Searching nooks and binders for several minutes, I finally find a thick leather bound book engraved "STUDENT INVENTORY". I speak up, "Jackpot. C'mon, let's get out of here." On the out the way we came, I slow at the sight of Principal Franklin's office.

Hyde immediately goes to work on unlocking it via bobby pin. "How much y'wanna bet Franklin turns into Free-Wheelin' Frankie on his lunch break?"

"You think so?" I lean on the doorjamb of the wide room as he scours the immaculate desk, closet, and wooden hutch for anything conspicuous for drugs.

"He's dry. Man, I was hoping his eyes bugged outta his head for a reason, not just because he's ugly."

I wince a bit at the imagery of the stocky, oily haired Principal Franklin. "Hey, you ever see Cinderella?"

"What?" He pays me a quizzical glint over his shoulder.

"You know, the poor girl who meets some fairy godmother that gives her one night to look pretty and live for once in her damn life?"

Crouching to fumble through a low cabinet in the hutch, Hyde shines the torch on a half-drank glass bottle of tinted liquor. "What about it?"

"The prince she digs has this old, stocky, annoying duke servant guy crawling up his ass all the time about his duties or whatever. Anyway, I have this theory that pesky guy is Point Place High's very own Principal Geoffrey Franklin."

"Nice story, man. Y'gotta point?" Hyde uncaps the alcohol, sniffs, and nearly regurgitates. "Peach Shnops. He likes the fruity shit, go figure."

"Franklin's the governments servant, always enforcing rules and orders to the people who are the prince, like the next generation of society. Basically us."

Silence presses for many counts until he ponders, "What about Cinderella? How's she fit into your theory?"

I reply thoughtfully, "Cinderella's everything the prince's ever wanted. She represents the one chance he has to experience everything: his goals, dreams, and euphoria. She's his future. He just has to be brave enough to take a chance and ask her to dance."

Man, I read waayyy too much poetry and conspiracies.

"You write that down or just come up with it on the top of your head?"

I shrug sheepishly.

Outside by the fences of the baseball field, I tear a couple pages for Hyde to light as the book itself sits at the bottom of a tin barrel meant for garbage.

He douses the leather with Franklin's Shnops and releases the bottle to shatter unceremoniously.

I have the honor of igniting the strands of paper we hold; unplanned, we dunk flames inside the barrel simultaneously, our hands brushing. I flinch when the fire gusts high due to the alcohol and inadvertently collide into Hyde's chest behind me. "Sorry."

"It's cool." Habitually, his hands grip the buckle of his belt. "It's a good thing Foreman didn't come."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Brie."

Looking at him, I can tell he's anxious due to the tightness in his shoulders, that whatever he's going to say must be big for him.

"...I've never met anyone who gets me like you do."

Shit. Donna's so going rub the "I told you so" in my face tomorrow.

"I was on the fence before whether to tell you or not, but that Franklin conspiracy made it official. You're fucking hot as hell too."

Oh shit. I can't believe he admitted that.

Heat involuntarily pinching the apples of my cheeks, I tuck clammy fists in my jacket and prod a patch of grass with a moccasined foot. "I guess Donna said it was cool if you're going for it, right?"

"She came around. Foreman was the one that gave me the run-around."

What? Hyde is Eric's best friend, their practically brothers. Why would Eric care who I date so much anyway? I don't bark about his love life and he's with _my_ _cousin_. What the hell's going on that I don't know about?

Glinting at Hyde, I crack an easy smirk flaunting pearls and bop our shoulders since we're side by side now. I walk around a bit, feeling a steady pair of eyes studying me before I settle against the chain fence encapsulating the baseball diamond. "You're not so bad yourself, man. So, this may be a stupid question, but how'd you get the name Hyde?"

"Last name." He weaves a casual hand in the chain link fence high behind me to prop himself comfortably before me.

"And your given name?" Tilting up at him, I can feel the weight of his body as leans on the fence even though we're a solid foot from contact.

Anticipation radiates thickening carnal as colorless eyes glint over the angles of my face, measuring me coolly for a reaction to his lingering closeness. "Steven." His nose brushes mine.

"Steven Hyde. Ever go by Steve?"

"Nah. I don't care if you do, it's not like I don't know you, Gabriella Marian."

Gabriella Marian? Gross. He sounds like RP when I'm in deep shit.

"Do yourself a favor and cut off Marian. She's reserved for RP's parental lectures."

"Sure, Brie." He pecks my lips, short and sweet before he nervously moistens his lips to seemingly sample the moment.

All of the playful looks, the bonding conversations, the slowly building closeness for THAT? C'mon, man! That's an old-middle aged-married couple-kiss. We're young and hot. I don't think so.

I laugh disbelief, "Are you kidding me? No, no. _Kiss_ me, Steve." Branching our lips together softly, I cradle the sides of his face gingerly, thumb those gorgeous sideburns to add depth, and nip his lip for more which triggers a tender groan I'd never expect from him and instantly taste faded cigarettes and the faint tang of Red's barbeque flavoring his dominate tongue. Delicious.

He retreats during the third tongue twister and smirks, but with an underlying stunned expression.

"Not what you expected?"

He totally dug it. His eyes are lit silver and gawking plus those broad shoulders are lax. Not to mention the stick in his shorts is up.

"Understatement." Hand in hand, he guides us toward the parking lot.

"What about the fire?" I cock behind us to the induced flames thrashing contently in the tin.

"It's five hours till school," He glimpses at the leather watch binding his wrist. "It'll all burn by then, the fire'll be out."

"Good thing Kelso wasn't here. Donna told me about all the fires he's started." I nestle in shotgun and rub friction between my cold hands.

"That's Kelso, explosive specialist." Steve roars the ignition to life and curves to me, unexpectedly tangling one of my hands in his only to cup them together and warm me up with exhaling bursts of warm breaths. "What do y'wanna do?"

That was actually kind of him. Steve Hyde, kind? What other parts of himself has he never shown to others? Did he even think about it or was it automatic? Wow. He hides in plain sight…all the time.

"Your folks care if you're past curfew?"

"Edna hardly cares if I'm home at all." He tones aloofly. "Why?"

Edna must be his mother? I'll have to prod a bit at Eric.

"Head for Red's. I have an idea."

He nods and barrels the family wagon down the road.

When Steve ditched Eric's ride in Red's driveway, I volunteered to sneak inside via Eric's house key and hang the keyring on its usual spot in the kitchen. The plan succeeded. I hopped Uncle Bob's fence and unlocked my backdoor. I didn't get caught because I'm smooth as silk; gotta be with a cop for a father.

Currently sneaking upstairs because Chelsea's snoring like a freight train in a dark living room, _Love Boat_ blaring from the TV, I stop him deep in the hall to twine our fingers together, enjoying the way they mesh. Caressing his cheek with his hands contouring hips, I feel his tongue drag over my lip; my mouth opens to deepen the interaction.

Holy hell, he's a radical kisser.

Shutting my entrance behind us, I empty all my pockets and hang my jacket on the back of the closet door. On second thought, I lock my door, telling Hyde, "She's the last person I want in my fortress. So, you game to try this guy out?"

"Looks like we're skipping."

Lighting the tightly rolled blunt between exercised, pink-flushed lips, I suck in a deep breath and pass it to him. "Definitely. I have a thing in math tomorrow that goes against my moral beliefs. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put the alphabet with numbers was a sadistic dumbass."

He nods in agreement, leaning on my desk. "Y'hear about a car that runs on water, man?"

What?

I push up my window and lock it in place then double check the removable screen. Exhaling smoke out the window as I lean on the wall, I eyeball alphabetical records longer than I usually do and finally pluck a good one from the bookcase. "On water? That's less pollution in the air to soften our brains; we'll be harder to brainwash. Now we can be like Cinderella. Ha! Take that y'government sons a bitches." For some reason, I laugh at the imagery of Cinderella shouting that last part.

It's fuckin' hilarious.

"_CCR_ is a go. I love these boys, they tell a story." Straddling the wicker chair at my desk, I huff in two drags after Hyde passes the blunt to me.

He moves around my room a little, scanning trinkets here and there and eyeing tapestry posters before inviting himself to flatten spread-eagle on my bed. "This stash is a lot better than ours, Brie."

"It's a step up. Cosmic Vision blows it outta the water though."

"So it's like a one hit deal?"

"Depends on y'tolerance. Either way, it sticks with ya." I tap the ashes in a ceramic dish. "Y'high?"

The muscles of abdomen rises and falls, flexing steadily beneath a denim jacket rung with wool. "Yeah. Less pissed off at the world."

"I feel like we accomplished somethin'. Most of us don't even know Franklin had a lil' black book of victims full of our private information." Stubbing the expertly rolled blunt and wrapping the rest in a hiding spot I switch up twice a week so Dad can't find anything, I sprawl with my head on his stomach to lay horizontally, us both staring wondrously at the ceiling. "We re-gifted the youth of society the right to their privacy, Steve. _Whoa_," I giggle for a minute and descend the clouds back to earth when I realize he's been caressing my hair in no much manner that further calms me. "I'm so feelin' that weed."

"I seriously like you."

I glide up the bed to lay on my side directly against him where he closes his eyes and inhales deeply as booted feet touch the floor below the plush mattress; his hand unlaces my braid on its own accord and lazily fans out pale strands here and there.

Nonchalantly weaving my digits through his own incredibly soft curls and savoring the beginning of a comfortable silence, I pluck the aviators off his face and slide them on to see his world.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****: A huge thanks 2 all the visits, reads, favorites and follows 4 this 1, guys! This is a looong 1 2 keep y'all satisfied 4 a while. No ****Face Claims**** this time around due 2 no new characters & all actors of T7S are their portrayed actor unless specified otherwise. CC in R&R is welcome! Enjoy!**


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